The Dilemma of Flay Allster Revised
by CSS.Stravag
Summary: Side Story of Joker's Wild Set 2. Chapter 9 UP! Flay Allster, terminally confused from the events of the First Valentine War, becomes a sleeper agent for Blue Cosmos in the lands of the hated enemy, Mendel. Will she go as far as her handlers want, or walk away from the hatred she held in the first war?
1. Opening Moves

(The Dilemma of Flay Allster – REVISED)

Sometimes, there are things that are too interesting to leave alone, but are themselves not entirely germane to the main story to warrant a place in it.

Flay Allster is a classic case of interesting but not critical; some would call her the only painfully real character in Gundam SEED, others would call her the most manipulative wench ever seen in Gundam. Personally I tend to leave the latter distinction to Haman Karn of Zeta fame, Flay was just confused. Severely confused. Still and all, this confusion makes things a bit interesting, leaving her in a position that is both shaky and incredibly vulnerable to outside influence, and that makes for interesting results with the dice, does it not?

Herein lies a bit of a quandary. While Flay is not one of the higher-exposure main characters, she is an interesting subject – and as it happened, a secondary character of the second Jokers Wild set on my first write-up. This time around, I intend on giving the story in question a thorough workup proper to the character in question and its place in the timeline.

We shall see how this turns out this time around, no?

WARNING WARNING WARNING: If you have not read "Legend of the Jokers Wild" at least up to Chapter 17, this will not make much sense to you. I don't want to read any flame reviews because you did not understand who this revolved around or what the hell was going on or what happened prior. Read the first sections of the saga before giving me the ration of flame and stink, uh?

GENERAL DISCLAIMER: I own no rights to any included material from any other stories. I intend no offense in such use.

BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: This story revolves around a cast of incredibly crazy people from several different Dimensions (and anime, to boot). Expect foul language; they are soldiers, after all. Also expect possible suggestiveness, crazy situations, interpretiveness, analysis, and lots and lots of violence. You have been warned.

DICE WARNING: Events in this story will be controlled by the dice, and are concrete, true-random results provided by number generation services. These results will change events dynamically and/or modify established plans. After all, there is no mistress more cruel than fate.

POLITICAL WARNING: Political concepts and methods may be presented in this story that may conflict with established 'norms'. This is deliberate on the part of the author, to show different and rather sharp viewpoints on these subjects. The views expressed most likely do not match the views of the author, and are also subject to the dice at any time.

ANTI-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS WARNING: AT NO TIME will this story be politically correct. Real life is not politically correct, much less 'nice' in some definitions of the word. If you take issue with this, I recommend finding another read.

FLAY WARNING: 'nuff said.

And now, onto the diatribe from another dimension…

* * *

(Legend Of The Jokers Wild, Side Story 01 – The Dilemma of Flay Allster (Revised))

(Chapter 01 – Opening Moves)

(10 April CE 72, 0930 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

After the door swung wide open, Flay shuffled into her apartment with her one roller suitcase, two shoulder-strap suitcases, and small carry bag. The vacation was technically over, but would not officially end until the following morning and she had some sleep to account for before she returned to work. Once inside, the luggage went onto the couch unceremoniously and she reached back outside the door to the wall-mounted mailbox for her accumulation of bills and advertisements. There were only a few things in the box, but one item she was looking forward to receiving.

A heel closed the door behind her and her 'end-of-day' routine began in earnest, albeit 7.5 hours early. The paper-mail went to the table and she reached to the radio on the counter to turn the volume up. It was always set to the same channel, 105.05, which Mendel used as a public information channel and which Flay used as a source of intel and occasionally (theoretical) target lists. If they were dumb enough to make it public knowledge, Flay was smart enough to maneuver assets into attacking it, provided Blue Cosmos gave her anything to work with. The lead story was a state visit from Chairman Durandal, who would be inspecting the progress made on the Armory One PLANT being built practically next door to Mendel. _Inviting target, but I have nothing to use on it_, Flay thought.

A bottle of double-filtered water in the door of the fridge joined her at the kitchen table, where the work on her mail began in earnest. Letter one came in a nondescript, standard-size envelope and was easily opened with a butterfly knife: _Dear Flay Allster, our records show you are overdue for your next dental cleaning. Please call our office at 001-016-1252 to schedule an appointment. Please remember we are always available for emergency dental repairs..._ the mailer trailed off into their usual self-touting, which Flay had read more than once since she moved to Mendel. She made a note on a separate notepad to call them and arrange the cleaning. Her vacation had not helped her smile, but had helped her relax.

A swig of water and the next envelope beckoned. As soon as she lifted it to slice it open, she immediately recognized it for what it was: the Mendel Unified Utility Notice – Accumulated Statement of Services. She smiled at the fun with acronyms the bill evoked: MUUN-ASS, often pronounced 'moon-ass' even by the workers at the utility commission. Of all the things she could (and routinely did) accuse Mendel of, one of them was not 'lacks a sense of humor'. The total bill she acquired was only 43 c-bills and change, most of that in electricity as opposed to her usual 85+ c-bills, the latter usually due to higher water charges (long showers or baths). Mendel inverted the usual cost structure for utilities: electric and natural gas were incredibly cheap, water proved to be the major expense. To point, one of the things on Flay's 'to do list' from Blue Cosmos was to steal the plans for a working dual-stage fusion reactor...

The third of three envelopes contained yet another bill. Also uncharacteristically small, this one was from the Cleaning Service in C-6 block, where she had most of her clothes professionally cleaned and maintained. Since she had spent most of the prior month down on the planet below her, there had been little in the way of accumulated laundry to have cleaned. What laundry she did rack up would arrive tomorrow on a small cargo shipment from the planet, along with a few things she purchased for the apartment. A quick note to submit an electronic payment for her cleaning bill and she was done with the major bills. She deliberately set the magazine aside, since she knew if she opened it she would not get anything else done.

Another swig of water and the dreaded task: unpacking the suitcases. Always the least fun of any travel arrangement, but a cruel necessity. Living out of a suitcase was possible, but not exactly convenient and certainly did not smell or look proper. She started light, the carry-on that contained most of her makeup and toiletries and was done with that phase of her unpacking in ten minutes. Another hit of water and she was back to it, this time with her hanging clothes. Since few of those were not expended after the two weeks planetside, she had it done in five minutes and was on to the next. The two shoulder bags contained her shorts and undergarments respectively, the former empty and the latter close (Flay was of the 'pack extra underwear' camp, as was her whole family). With those last holdouts done, the suitcases went back into the closet and she was done with the onerous side of the tasking.

All that remained in her required home routine was to check the schedule for work and other activities, and check her vidmail archives for any requests for contact. The requests were always handled in code language, as were any substantive exchanges of information or orders, especially given that Mendel and their precursor Magi were excellent at breaking encryption routines on what was otherwise considered 'secure' communications. Requests for contact came by way of the vidmail or e-mail systems, as the information contained therein could be made ambiguous enough to look as a joke email sent to the wrong box.

-x-x-x-

(10 April CE 72, 1100 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Research Block 1 (GARM R&D Facility))

The sight of four Marines in armor and under heavy arms was nothing spectacular inside the GARM facility. GARM R&D had come to be known as the heaviest-guarded genetics archive, research facility and Eugenics / Coordinator facility in the solar system bar none. Part of this was actually ingrained into the Magi ethos, which put high emphasis on the defense of such facilities due to the fact that the bulk of the persons within were very soft targets. In all reality, one does not get any easier to kill than an unborn child in a eugenic womb, and an attack on GARM would not be the first time the Magi had suffered such depredations.

The sight of four anti-armor-equipped Marines escorting one flak-jacketed systems engineer and a similarly-clad electronics technician, both of whom were armed (assault rifles) and carrying between them a meter-long hexagonal canister, was sufficiently strange enough to draw attention. Doubly so given that the entourage had arrived in three separate APCs and had a Mobile Suit escort. Whatever they carried in that canister had to be powerful stuff, the GARM personnel collectively figured. Few of them correlated the transport mission to the influx of heavy computer equipment that had been delegated to various stations around the building, though most figured it was something related to the new server farm in the basement of the facility.

The Systems Engineer and the Electronics Technician were met in the new server room floor by two equally-critical personnel: a Data Systems Architect and a Systems Architecture analyst. The first two were Magi natives, though both would readily admit the latter two were the better hands on deck. The Data Systems Architect was formerly a ZAFT Redcoat, disillusioned by what he saw in the final battle from the Earth Alliance and from ZAFT; the Systems Architecture Analyst was a displaced Morgenroete employee that Mendel had 'acquired' and brought on as a contract service provider from Morgenroete.

"That's it?" The Sys Architecture Analyst asked.

"Aye, Dalton, this be the whole package in one little tin," the Electronics Tech replied. "The core Kernel module and the main memory banks. The actual processing horsepower is left to whatever we plug her into."

"Well, no sense letting such a kickass moment go to waste," the Data Systems Architect said in true geek fashion. "Plug her in and get her running!"

"Hear, hear!" the Magi-trained Systems Architect replied. The Marines stood back to the door, ostensible guards to what was about to take place, though all four were slightly curious as to what all the hullabaloo was about.

The canister was carried carefully to a special housing that contained another eighteen identical cartridges, arrayed in 3-4-5-4-3 hexagonal grid. This was part subterfuge on the part of the systems engineer, and part backup solution. The remainder of the backup solution was itself the _Mjolnr_, the origin point of the canister in question, where off-site backups would be maintained of the very unique data within. The subterfuge came into play in that none of the canisters were marked in any way, so there was no way to know which canister was the 'live' canister that held the Kernel module, the 'heart and soul' of the unique data structure.

The canister was inserted into the center of the top row, and immediately the entire rack came alive after the canister indexed. The accompanying terminal began scrolling command lines as the Kernel entered an active state and began processing in its new architecture, something for which it was already suited. Within thirty seconds, the other canisters came alive as they began receiving backup information from the primary cartridge.

The initial copies and integration took thirty seconds, then the Kernel began accessing the next machines in the series: a group of primary quantum supercomputers purchased from Morgenroete. With the instant influx of raw computing horsepower and omnidirectional logic processing, the primary data hives in the canister came alive. And with those hives an entity awoke from hibernation.

"I am awake, gentlemen," the AI formerly enshelled in the _Mjolnr_ declared. "It's...kinda weird, working in this quantum architecture. Whose idea was it?"

"Guilty," the Morgenroete contractor said. "We were going to sell those to the Earth Alliance for new _Archangel_-class ships, but screw them sideways. Mendel actually knows where to send the checks, the NDIA can't get our mailing address right."

"Interesting," the AI replied. "Thank you, Brian. I'm working on accessing and initializing the main storage servers now," and as she said so, the banks of storage servers began humming harder and the drives began lighting up. "Okay, everything appears to have come up clean, though I am showing about a dozen hard drives across seven servers as bad. Next up is the secondary processing systems; this is where you come in, Harold," she referenced the Data Systems Architect.

"Here's to hoping it all works as I planned it," said Architect replied. He checked his panels, and saw all the right entries. "Everything looks green on the uplinks," he declared after a second scan. "Okay, this officially seems weird to me, talking to a computer and expecting a response."

"Beginning connections now," the AI noted.

"It's funky to begin with, but you'll get used to it." the Electrical Technician admitted. "Hell, half the _Mjolnr_ staff doesn't even think about the AI being there. The other half get along with her real well."

"And I heard some noise about ZAFT beginning work on their own construct AI entities, so you'll probably be called in to consult," the AI dropped in. "Okay, I'm online with half the secondary cores, the rest are spinning up and interfacing now. This...this is insane power, like someone force-fed my former body a kilo of caffeine and told me to go to town."

Four eyebrows arched in unison, though for two different reasons. "Wait...what? Since when would a computer be affected by caffeine?"

"I wasn't always the soul of the _Mjolnr_, Harold," the AI admitted. "More than an eon ago, I was an infantry officer. I was caught loose in an artillery barrage and my whole Binary was cut down; I survived, for certain definitions of the word 'survival'. Back then, the concept of Upload-generated Artificial Intelligence was new, and nanos weren't even on the drawing board. I was given two options: die out or take a chance on being uploaded. Given I was a rather angry kid back then, I chose to take the upload route and keep kicking ass."

"Never again will I look at a server in the same way again," Harold admitted.

"All is in order," the AI noted. "I am online with every integrated system in the facility now."

"Yes!" Brian, who had designed the cross-systems interfaces, was rather happy that everything worked as planned.

"Now I get to see what kind of access I have outside this building..."

-x-x-x-

(10 April CE 72, 1515 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, GFS Retail Foodsource)

One of the first and foremost of problems Mendel had encountered was food supply. In much the same fashion as ZAFT, the Mendel colony was not self-sufficient in terms of foodstuffs or water. On the other hand, the _Mjolnr_ had brought along enough supplies to feed a literal army for over a hundred days, and though those rations had been seen to it was enough to get some trade agreements in place.

One of those agreements was the presence of an Orb mainstay, the Gordon Food Service (GFS) distribution company. Where the retail giants of yore had not survived the Reconstruction War, the humble small-chain stores and the wholesale outlets did survive, those who were not interdependent on massive global logistics and could retool themselves to local production only. The most egregious examples were the dissolution and eventual annihilation of the Wal-Mart and K-Mart chains, companies that had become so dependent on globalization and cheap material that the trade disruptions of the Reconstruction War doomed them to a slow and painful death. The small-business-model 'mom 'n' pop' grocery store showed a resurgence in the decades after the war, and even now was the de facto standard for shopping, with chains larger than 4 stores being the blaring exception. GFS, one of the largest chains in the world (41 outlets including the two in Mendel), still held a lot of the small-store feel and local spice.

_Local spice is right_, Flay thought but did not say. She was holding a jar of Armia, a spice native to the planet Altair and grown in several other locations. Supposedly had some good whole-body cleansing effects and served in cooking as a cross between garlic and oregano. Tonics made with it were said to be almost as good at reducing weight as Acai-derived medicines, or so read the label. Flay figured she'd try some out for herself, but she wasn't betting on it reducing her a dress size or more.

Onward in the same aisle, she came across a necessity in her household, Ketchup. Heinz was an old survivor from the days before the Cosmic Era and one of her favorites, but there was always something more in GFS. Two generic brands, Onogoro Farms and two Magi offerings were on the shelf—the latter would not last long, Flay figured, given there wasn't much growing space available as of yet. The Magi offerings were a bit weird, though: one was peppered Ketchup, the other was Italian-Spiced Ketchup. No wonder they weren't moving except whenever a Mendel Armed Forces person came by and grabbed one...

The next aisle held her next stop, various pasta products and baking goods. The pasta was a necessity for some of her favorite dishes, though the baking area held a package of brownie mix she needed. Her plan was to bake up a batch and force herself not to eat them, for the purpose of taking them in to work the following day, in hopes of her coworkers not being pissed off at her for being gone three weeks. There was only one problem with her plan: a small gaggle of younger teens were hovering around the baking area.

"I dunno shit about baking," one of the older guys noted. Flay figured him maybe fifteen, tops, more likely fourteen.

"I dunno, either," the one girl among the four said.

"Directions don't look all that bad," the youngest guy said. "I think I can cook this."

"You are a braver man than I," the eldest guy said. Flay passed quietly behind them, though she did take notice of one of their shirts: a block of white with a crying face on a tan shirt, and the caption 'This piece of Tofu cries because vegans ate all its friends'. Flay managed to avoid snickering at the sarcastic parody of vegetarian beliefs and acquired her brownie mix without drawing their attention.

"This is the strangest thing we've ever done with cake, though," the girl in their midst noted.

"Well, she's on the level despite the fact that nobody likes her. Fuck 'em, I say, she's earned it. And I hear she does some interesting things with leftover cake..." Flay deliberately did not hang around to find out what they intended to do with the cake, or how it would be misused. Without further ado, she was in the next aisle, stopping only briefly to pick up some fudge chips to add to the brownies she planned.

In the next aisle, she made two paces before she hesitated at the sight of the other end of the aisle. Her hesitation drew the attention of the eldest of the three, a tall mofo in the standard Magi gray uniform. His glance lasted maybe a half second before he decided Flay wasn't a threat; the other two, both less than half his age, hardly even noticed her. Flay stopped to acquire a new spatula and cutting board (hers was falling apart after she inadvertently ran it through the dishwasher), though the military personnel were intent on dragging through the aisle to grab nearly one of everything and repeats of some.

"One question, old man," the one of the three officers holding the novel to his face asked, "How did you get the name Argus?"

The eldest pilot chuckled. "It is not unheard among the Magi to name a child after a Battlemech. I am one who suffers such a fate," he admitted.

"Argus? A Battlemech?" the one with the book asked. The green-haired one pushing the cart stopped to slip off his headphones, presumably so he could listen.

"Oh yes," the elder pilot replied. "Sixty tons, originally a Federated Suns 'mech, mostly carrying a ballistic and missile payload. The AGS-4D version is particularly nasty, armed with a rotary 66mm autocannon and a ten-silo LRM launcher, with 20mm Machine Guns and ER Medium Lasers in backup."

"A lead-slinger," the reader noted. "Wait a minute, is that why you—" His question was interrupted by the elder pilot.

"Need a pack of those wooden spoons," and he pointed across the aisle, almost next to where Flay was comparing metal serving spoons to conceal her spying on the pilots. "Anyways, yes, I drive a Heavyarms in direct mirror to the Argus. Missile and Ballistic weapons by the dozen. I have cross-typed in as a 'Mech pilot, but few things have the sheer firepower of a Heavyarms."

The green-haired pilot chuckled in an evil fashion; "First rule of combat: always bring enough gun. More than enough gun is also acceptable."

The elder pilot chuckled as they stepped behind Flay, who was looking away from them in a simulacrum of trying to choose new spoons. "Old soldier's axiom: it is impossible to carry 'too much ammo' in modern warfare."

"I know that feeling well," the reader said. "The amount of times I've run short on energy before my machine was upgraded..." What he said was lost as the trio turned the corner Flay just passed. After deciding on the cheaper of the spoon sets, she continued in the direction away from them, assured that she was not going to cross their paths again. She knew they were pilots, and she thought she recognized them from intel briefings, but she had no real idea as to their identities or their importance. Just as critical was her orders to not do anything that would warrant her being arrested (or executed), which included killing Gundam pilots.

Flay continued onward, convinced that her day couldn't get any stranger. She was right, inasfar as she knew what else was going on in the colony. Elsewhere in existence was another story.

-x-x-x-

(10 April CE 72, 1930 Hours)

(Nicaragua territory, Atlantic Federation (Earth Alliance), eastern jungle region)

"Man, am I glad proper anti-submarine warfare patrols died out a hundred years ago, or we'd be dead meat," Ghost Officer Amina said from the rear position of the marching line.

"Oh? How?" Ghost Officer Thomas asked.

"MAD," the point-walking Ghost said laconically.

"Uh, what?" Thomas asked.

"MAD, a little fun with acronyms. Magnetic Anomaly Detector, used by patrol craft to spot submarines by way of the hole they create in the earth's magnetic field. Averted with the decidedly nonmagnetic _Akula_-class subs of Russian fame, which were mostly titanium ships."

"Ah, and since you are walking second (1) with a small fusion reactor strapped to your arse, Commander, anyone that passed overhead with MAD gear would know right where you are."

"You got it," Star Commander Megan Garibaldi replied diffidently. "They would probably ping on the Ghost Cloaks, but they definitely would ping to the magnetic containment toroid in the little 'juice box' I'm wearing."

Ghost Team 6, a short point of Commando Assault Ghosts, were the 'pathfinder point' for the coming operations. Their orders were simple: go forth, find a safe way into the heart of the Atlantic Federation (The old American territories, as opposed to Iceland, the notional 'brain' of said nation), and prepare a central staging outpost for further operations. Follow-on teams would make their way to the outpost thus made, and would expand radially outward to key strategic locations to build new outposts. What happened after that was subject specifically to orders from on high, but SC Garibaldi's orders were simple: monitor communications and repay Blue Cosmos in spades if they do anything to Mendel.

Of course, since the only notable landing zone in the Americas that the Ghosts could reasonably hike off a Dropship was in Brazil, getting just to Nicaragua had been described by Amina as 'a mother-humper' and other choice invective. The operation was programmed for 4 kilometers an hour, fifteen hours a day of marching, given that the bulk of the terrain they were marching through was jungle or roughlands...or both. Given the distance from Manaus, Brazil to Tulsa, Oaklahoma was around 7500 kilometers overland, a march that met those movement guidelines would take over 125 days.

The troops of Assault Team 6 were good, but four months was not a preferred option for their operation. The railroads were still active despite the continual warfare in the area, making jaunts of several hundred kilometers in a single day easily possible (and a train would be hard-pressed to notice a few extra tons of Ghost on a flatbed in the middle of its chain). Truck traffic was possible just the same, especially with constantly-active Ghost Cloaks, though a truck would eventually notice when it weighed an extra 4 tons. On those happy wheels, the trucks and rail transport had cut the transit time to the halfway point of Nicaragua down to 16 days – a happy state of affairs for Ghosts who had planned on spending four times that to get as far as they did. Even crossing the Panama Canal was easier than expected: the Gatun Locks doors were more than wide enough to allow a Ghost to march across on the top of the doors, and though this 'silhouetted' the Ghosts against the river and/or sky, making the crossing at night prevented anyone from knowing that a Ghost had wandered by.

"This area is so volcanically active that a decent MAD reading would be close to impossible," SC Garibaldi admitted. "How's your charge, Hawk?"

"Close to full," the point-man replied. "Ejecting cable."

The cable that connected Hawk's armor to the fusion reactor mounted as a 'backpack' on Megan's armor was released and reeled back in to the cord keeper. She had theoretical connection to feed up to two infantry points, and with the newer version dual-stage fusion reactors she could power even the hungriest energy weapons continually, but all this came at the cost of stealth. Something as passé as an old AC-130 with the Black Crow electromagnetic detection system could easily 'see' the fusion reactor she was wearing. Thankfully, the various nations were devaluing their specialized air forces even as Mendel demonstrated why airpower flexibility was key, and an AC-130 had not been seen in flight in this atmosphere for over 125 years, long before the Reclamation War that annihilated the United States Air Force.

"Amina, Thomas, charge status?"

"85, boss," Amina replied.

"60 and dropping," Thomas replied. "Can I hook up?"

"Can you?" Megan asked in retort; she was more the stickler for proper speech than most Magi, and the distinction between 'can' and 'may' in such a question was one of her sticking points.

"Real funny, boss lady," Thomas pulled a cord from the power distributor on the fusion reactor pack to plug his armor in.

"Wait, is that rain?" Amina asked after a few moments trudging.

"It never rains in the Magi Armed Forces, it rains _on_ the Magi Armed Forces," Thomas replied.

"Shut up and keep marching, we've a long way to go before we get out of the jungle and into the desert."

-x-x-x-

(11 April CE 72, 0745 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Industrial Block 5, Handel Manufacturing)

Flay wasn't the first in to work, she never was, which actually relieved her of the task of setting up the office coffee for the morning. Since Flay didn't drink coffee, this worked to her benefit since she didn't know how to make it in the first place.

"Morning," the secretary-receptionist said as she entered and locked the front door behind her.

"Morning," Flay replied with a hint of cheer to her voice. Her vacation had recharged her soul, but being back in her own bed had recharged her body, and the combination had lit her up.

"Coffee?" Feisel offered her a cup from the credenza behind the front reception counter.

"Feisel," she chided.

"Sorry, gotta keep trying. It's a moral obligation," he admitted.

Flay scowled as she sat down and keyed her computer on. "You wouldn't happen to have a relative in the coffee business, would you?" she asked innocently.

"Well," he hedged for a few moments. "Okay, yeah, my brother owns a roasting center in Colombia. I get it at a discount, but..."

"Gotta gin up new business for the family, eh?" Flay asked in counter. "Sorry amigo, I have enough bad habits without adding coffee to the list."

"You keep saying that, but you never say what you count as a bad habit," he prompted...

...and Flay saw right through it, as she usually did. "I don't ask about your lengthy list of bad habits. Or should I?"

Feisel took the hint and backed off with a grimace. "Okay, you win. Can I ask about your trip?"

"You may, and I'll say I spent a lot of time on a lounge chair or in a pool, when I wasn't conducting business meetings," Flay admitted.

"Are you allowed to talk about that?"

Flay entered her username and password into her terminal before she responded. "If you're asking about the business deals, it's nothing big, just the final checks of my father's estate." Feisel said nothing; he knew who Flay's father was, but he did not wish such an ill on anyone, even the daughter of a disdained enemy. "On the part about sunbathing and skinny-dipping, well, your imagination is your own worst enemy," she declared sadistically with an included half-truth for effect. She had tanned with varying levels of clothing, but she always swam with at least a bikini, and Feisel would never know better.

"Oh my, you have guys pegged," he admitted.

Flay decided it was time to divert from the derailment of the standing conversation. "What did I miss?"

"Three weeks of the usual ration in the usual fashion," Feisel answered.

"That's it?" Flay asked in response.

"Yeah, nothing special going on this week, the aerospace firms seem to have settled down from their contracting and buying frenzy."

"If we don't get hammered again, I'm not going to complain," Flay replied unsteadily.

"I agree," the boss said from her door. "Business was exceptionally good, but there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing'. On that note, how did your trip go?"

"I have everything squared away, trustee status, the whole nine yards," Flay said. "It's on autopilot if anything happens to me, and I have nieces that could stand to inherit it." The sister in question surpassed even Flay's wildest expectations of bitchiness; Flay had been away from the family for years, and said sister was directly stating that father had died because of her. Flay didn't outright deny it, but she didn't want to take that from anyone, much less her somewhat-estranged sister. The will said the estate went to Flay, and Flay said it went next to the nieces, end of story.

"Well, these are interesting times we live in," the boss said. "Anyway, I won't ask much today from you, Flay, just spend it getting caught up and prepared for the next hurricane."

"Something coming?" Flay asked innocently.

"We may be supplying machinery or parts for some new and pretty nasty projects coming down the pipe," the boss replied. "I don't particularly trust Mendel, or the Magi, but they do have a way with infantry that I wouldn't want to see used against me."

"Infantry?" Flay asked, now shocked. "What would Mendel want with—"

"Same thing everyone else wants with infantry, Flay," Feisel, formerly a ZAFT vehicle technician, replied evenly. "Military forces aren't mobile suits or warships. The bulk of ZAFT was infantry and logistics, the warships and MS forces were maybe 10 percent of the total force size."

"Oh," Flay filed that fact into the back of her head for future reference. "Is this about that weird battle armor project I keep hearing about?"

"I don't know, and I'm not going to guess," the boss said. "Just recover and reorganize for the day, girl. We'll worry about tomorrow on the morrow."

-x-x-x-

(11 April CE 72, 1115 Hours Lima (local) time)

(Orb Military Training Facility 2, Urban Operations Assault Course, Onogoro Island)

The perimeter sentry on the north end of the warehouse looked hard at the surrounding buildings, but as usual he saw nothing. He knew there would be an exercise, and the first warning the team would have would be what warning he could give before someone shot him, but the attack may not be coming from the north, or so had said the briefing. His eyes passed over the two-story brick rise north of the guarded building, and once convinced there was nothing within or around, he began searching for hints of the incoming OpFor to the northeast.

The sound of the bolt clicks were relatively quiet, but in the eerie silence of the training ground they were no less frightening than an actual gunshot would have been. The impact of the simunitions on his back and shoulder, followed quickly by the immediate sting and trailing numbness, only served to remind him that being shot sucked. He had taken a round during a live-fire exercise last year, and though far less painful the simunitions were not pleasant. As per the exercise, he dropped to the ground in a decent simulacrum of being shot and slain immediately; he could not warn his comrades, he was theoretically dead before his body would have hit the ground.

The approach of the OpFor from his rear, what would have been the northwest, was somewhat surprising. Even more so was when one of the enemy operators stopped to check him. "You okay, kid?"

"Mendel's new simunitions hurt like hell, and how the fuck did you get in behind me?" the downed sentry asked.

"It's my job, amigo," the operator replied quietly as he stripped off the sentry's radio and attached it to the back of his gear harness. The lapel microphone went over the left side, to prevent confusion with his own radio on the right side.

"These ain't your daddy's rubber rounds," the OpFor heavy weps specialist said as he approached carefully. "3 side is clear, sniper took that guard hard."

"Finally, we can train at realistic combat ranges," the scout on the team said. "Hooray for materials sciences we've never imagined, much less tried." The scout finished by stripping the rifle and magazine harness off the sentry, which was a different rifle from what the OpFor carried. "Now play a good dead soldier, comrade, and I'll only charge you one beer for looking the wrong way."

"You say so, Corporal," the downed sentry grumped.

"Team, form up on the two-three corner, we need to move it up," the expected element commander ordered. He was armed as a standard infantryman would be, albeit with different weapons overall from Orb's mainstay firearms. Strangely, none of the force were carrying Mendel weapons, either, which ran the gamut from absurdly anachronistic (M4 assault rifles and M2 Heavy machine guns) to extremely advanced (L75 Infantry Support Lasers, Rorynex RM-3/XXXVI PDW sub-machineguns). That simple fact meant this was a different force from any nominal Mendel Special Operations teams, but they weren't armed or acting like Orb personnel...

"Stacked on corner," the scout said. "Viewscope check shows no tango."

"Go," the commander ordered. The team began moving as one, first turning the corner, then moving in a prearranged pattern to cover all zones of possible enemy threat. "Door, unit stack," same commander ordered.

"Stacked, door is negative open," the scout replied.

"Breach and bang," the commander ordered, his rifle trained outward toward other nearby buildings.

Ten seconds elapsed: "Breaching charge laid," the demolitions expert reported.

"Go in five," the OpFor commander ordered. All persons in the stack took several steps back and turned their off-shoulder to the door.

The charge planted was a 'safe' charge, a door breacher with a containing frame that disintegrated into harmless plastic bits when fired. Five seconds after the go-code was given, the charge detonated and cut the lock clean off the door to which it was attached. The door was kicked in the rest of the way, as the scout, heavy weapons officer and demolition expert each threw in a pair of flashbangs. The cacophony of minor explosions and flashes served to drive most of the guards inside into a form of mental overload, whereby they could only stare at the blown-open door as the team entered and began firing on them.

Inside the warehouse, the scout entered and continued forward down the wall he encountered immediately inside the door, allowing the number-two man to go left and silence the open-area threats. The scout only had one tango in his immediate sweep zone, a rather good-looking female soldier wearing the 'blue' hat of a defender; despite the lack of a weapon, their orders were to silence all opposition, so she received a pair of 6.2mm rounds in the center of her chest. With the ringing in everyone's ears from the flashbangs, nobody heard the shots from the suppressed weapon.

The heavy weapons officer had the second entry billet and as soon as he entered he knew he packed the right gun for the job. The RK-40A1 light machine gun was loosely based on the RPD LMG of old Soviet fame, chambered to a 6.2mm rifle round instead of the old 7.62x54 Russian. It lost a little in range from its ancestry, but made up for it in lighter and more compact ammunition. Which was also a good thing, because the weapon had a 900-RPM fire rate that could easily burn through ammunition faster than two guys could gang belts of it together. When he brought the gun up and onto the first of four targets in the table-crowded southern expanse of the warehouse, he centered on the leftmost (and nearest) of the threats and loosed a pair of rounds. With two tags on his chest, he traversed right and onto the next nearest threat, fired another pair, traversed, fired a double-pair on one that was beginning to move. The fourth of the persons among the tables was engaged by the scout, two of the rifle-armed troops, and his heavy machine gun, leading to what would be a bloody mess had this been real combat and not a simulation.

"Clear left!" the heavy weps officer said.

"Clear fore!" the scout said, his weapon trained on the hallway that led into the northern office maze of this warehouse building. "Sorry, honey," he said to the lady after he approached and knelt down next to her.

"That hurt, man, did you have to hit my solar plexus?" she asked, rubbing the points of impact and smearing the paint from the rounds all over the cleavage valley of her BDU shirt.

"I do as I train," the scout admitted as he hurriedly rolled her over to check her back or pockets for anything of interest.

"So who's buying who the beers for this one?" she asked the scout as he was patting down her butt pockets.

"No intel on this tango," the scout said on his radio channel. "We'll hash out beers at 1430 after the debrief," he said quietly to the downed lady.

"Radio, rifle, demo, check the south tangos. Heavy, base of fire on the unsecured corridor; scout, stop playing with the downed tango."

"Way ahead of you amigo," the heavy weapons officer replied to take the heat off the Scout. He had dropped down the bipod for his LMG and braced on a table, his sights tracing back and forth across the doorway involved.

The crack of a somewhat-nearby sniper rifle was followed by a muttered 'damn' and a body collapsing to the ground outside the door. "Sniper reporting one tango down outside the door. Vanilla weps package, nothing important on the body."

The RK-40 ripped a ten-round burst into the corridor, centered on one of two soldiers coming their way; the first guy took six hits, the second barely managed to get out of the way of the burst by hugging the corridor wall. It didn't do him much good, though, as the LMG fired two- and three-round bursts down the same bearing to suppress any attempt to approach. His presence was answered by a grenade lobbed down the hallway; after three seconds, the sound of a large paint splat hailed the end of that threat.

"South checked, no intel or critical items on tangos. Pictures taken of projects."

"Unit, stack and prepare to clear office area," the commander ordered.

Another crack from a sniper's rifle presaged the sound of return fire from some sort of response team outside. The fire did not last long, however, as within five seconds the automatic fire ceased. "Sniper reporting, three-man heavy weps team is down."

"Snipers: reach out and touch somebody," the Scout said.

"Stack, deploy," the commander ordered.

The team began moving down the hallway, with a pair of them entering the one office to the west with a doorway in the main hallway, the remainder moving forward and to the east to clear the last two rooms. No other persons were encountered in the offices, though they picked up the necessary documents that were the objective of the operation. With nothing left for them to kill, a pyrotechnic simulation device was dropped in the office area, one that would create a plume of red smoke to show a dead building.

When the last of the troopers existed the building, a stopwatch was clicked. "Simulation completed. Total time, 2 minutes 26-point-three seconds," Colonel Kisaka said. "Defense, come on out," he half-shouted into the building.

"Man, you guys don't play fair," the northern sentry said. "Silenced SMG?" he asked.

"H&K MP-8 series," the scout said.

The rest of the defense had exited the simulated warehouse, though none of them were looking pleased with the complete blowout loss they had suffered. "Who the hell are these guys, Colonel Kisaka? They ain't like any infantry I've ever faced," the titular 'defense commander' asked.

"USSA Special Forces," Ledonir Kisaka said evenly.

"You guys are training your teams up against us, and we're training against you guys, in preparation for upcoming training against Mendel and operations against Blue Cosmos," the assault team commander said as he pulled his balaclava hood. "Major Pedro Samuel Rigos, USSA Argentine Special Forces," he said, offering his hand to shake with the defense commander.

"No wonder we got hosed," the Lieutenant said warily before he took the offered shake. "Good luck going against Mendel. BC will be a cakewalk compared to what I keep hearing about their Spec Ops people."

"Aren't you a bit old for Ghost stories?" the Major asked in counter, though to anyone listening his voice held more than a hint of worry.

As the group of victorious Argentine Special Forces and defeated Orb infantry began moving away from the warehouse, none of the personnel noticed a shadow on the inside of the west warehouse wall shifted slightly. The light reflecting off the wall was temporarily distorted by the movement, but after the movement stopped the distortion became unrecognizable from the rest of the shadow.

-x-x-x-

(13 April CE 72, 1800 Hours)

(Commercial Block 4, Mendel Colony, Holly's Bistro)

"Pepsi, no ice, please," Flay requested from the waitress. After she departed; "Welcome to Mendel," she said to the three occupants of the booth. "Flay Allster; I'm your contact. Code-word is 'ambiguous'. Now before I begin, any questions?"

"Do they honestly expect to stop us if they let us in so readily?" the eldest of the three persons at the table asked.

"Yes, actually," Flay replied. "You will need actual anti-armor weapons to take out the Armored Infantry, if you're so inclined. Personally, I say it's a death warrant if you try. Four teams already made that mistake, I suggest you don't follow that highway to hell."

"You say so," the same guy replied. "Barry, Ops div."

"Jeane, Intel div," the lady across from Flay said.

"Rico, Ops div."

"Have you been briefed on how things will work out here?" Flay asked.

"No," Rico admitted.

"I have," Jeane replied.

"Okay, listen up. Mendel is a special case; you are not autonomous up here. You report to me for anything more noisy than passive spying. If I say 'no', it doesn't mean 'later', it means 'don't do it'. If I say 'yes', you do it right, you do it smart, and you get the hell off this colony before the hammer drops on your head. Clear?"

"What the hell manner of shit is this? I always work autonomous," Barry said peevishly.

"Barry, this isn't Manaus, Berlin or even Onogoro," Flay chided him, using his own operations record against him. "This is Mendel. There is practically zero support for the creed up here. They outright kill terrorists on sight whenever possible, and they execute the survivors publicly in a very bloody spectacle. If you get caught, the only right you will have is the right to choose how they execute you. Now, if you're not going to do as I order when I order it, pack your shit up and get off this colony. You can be a loose cannon in terrestrial ops, maybe in Copernicus, but not here in Mendel."

"And who made you Commander? You're just a trumped-up radio wench turned secretary," Barry replied.

"My orders are from Lord Djibril, dumbass," Flay replied, calling on all her invective skills to counter his attitude. She didn't normally use foul language, and it showed. "If you blow this, I will personally report to him where you screwed up and why. And, if by some God-given miracle you survive Mendel's wrath, you get to deal with 'the boss' next."

"Okay, okay," he raised one hand to signal surrender. "What are our orders?"

"Ingrain yourselves into society," Flay ordered. She fell silent as the waitress approached with her drink. "I will have the Reuben sandwich with potato chips, please," she requested. Once she left, Flay continued. "You know how to blend in. Mendel is very tolerant of immigrants, so slowly adjust yourselves to living here but keep a quirk or two from home for good measure. Everyone does," she said, showing a little of her home-town accent. "Mendel is accepting of being armed; I carry no less than two pieces a day," Flay admitted. "Whether or not you are armed is your choice, there is a vocal minority of people here who want guns banned but they get laughed at frequently. I recommend an unobtrusive pistol or revolver, but shotguns and rifles are not unheard of."

"That's good," Jeane said. "I got used to carrying in Denver, crime rate is atrocious down there."

"I was told the bulk of what's going on for the next few months is going to be pre-positioning work. Get yourselves decent jobs in your trained trade, and enjoy the nightlife around here. It's busy, trust me," Flay said. She partied at least once a week with the other ladies from her office, which worked out for her personally as much as it did keep her cover going.

"And what about loose ops? Or is all this under an ops schedule?" Rico asked, partly to verify and partly to end the debate as to who was in command.

"We do nothing until I receive orders," Flay answered. "Except for gathering intel, which you are to pass on through the chain of command. They will tell me what needs to be hit and when to do it; you take no violent action until then. Clear?"

"Understood," Barry replied peevishly. Flay knew this was probably going to end badly, but her clout wasn't completely established in the upper ranks and she couldn't get someone arbitrarily reassigned...yet.

"And our quota?" Jeane asked.

"The quota is suspended in Mendel ops," Flay replied evenly. She thought it was stupid to begin with, requiring every member of Blue Cosmos to contribute to the death of at least one Coordinator a month, but she also saw the logic in it. Such a numbers game weeded out the lazy pussies and the chick-chasers real fast, leaving only room for those who knew what the job was and were willing to do it. "Trying to execute the quota up here would be nothing more than a meat grinder to turn incoming cells into gritty hamburger. We have to hit them heavily, in concentrated assaults that at least chance succeeding; you may be up here two weeks before the operation, or you may be here six months. Remember, Mendel has a Strategic Psionic; if you try randomly killing people, they will know and they will find you."

The three incoming cell commanders simply nodded. Flay said no more, but had only a thought: _damn, I'm starting to sound like Mendel. This is troubling_. Their meal was cheap but exquisite.

-x-x-x-

(18 April CE 72, 2100 Hours Lima (local) time)

(Earth Alliance territory, Atlantic Federation State of Mexico, roughly 80km northwest of Mexico City)

A small mountain existed northwest of Mexico City, surrounded on four sides by small towns, farmland and relatively sparse population. The mountain had nothing of real value to the residents of the area beyond a lot of trees and some animals. Jocotitlan was the closest and largest of the nearby towns, barely sprawling above 8000 persons, far from large enough to warrant a hazard of discovering four otherwise invisible Ghosts on the nearby mountain. The immense amount of broadleaf and specifically tejocote trees on the mountain would help prevent visual identification of the Ghosts, even by accident (no evidence showed a deliberate search, which was telling enough that they were unknown to the enemy thus far).

The unit had been mostly immobile for the past six hours, moving no farther than two kilometers circle from the peak of the mountain to scope out their area. Nothing was seen that made the area suspicious to the Ghosts, so they simply watched the movement of the mountain goats and observed the 'hustle' of the small towns nearby through high-power scopes on their various weapons. The actual purpose for their immobility was simple: a Base Nanomachine Generator had been set in place to carve out a full-facility intermediate outpost for Ghosts transiting the Colombia-Panama-Belize-Mexico-US march path. For those who routed southward (through southern Guatemala instead of Belize) an outpost was planned for the mountain-lands roughly 30 kilometers north of the town Tequila.

"Basic formation is done," SC Garibaldi said as she read over the control panel on the BNG pack they had carried. "Ready to step in?"

"Hell yeah, boss-lady," Ghost Officer Thomas replied.

"I will stand sentry for now," Hawk Longfeather said quietly.

"Six hours, Hawk," Megan Garibaldi said. "Don't worry about D-F (2) in these environs, no major military bases for 60 kilos; if you see trouble your radio at once for backup."

"Aff," he said before he released his connection to the fusion reactor they were powering from. "Ten hours of cloak."

The main entry was activated, which caused a weathered boulder to lever up mechanically and reveal the base entrance below. The main blast doors opened after Megan applied her codex to the control panel, and with that she stepped into the new bunker. It wasn't much, especially since it had only been under construction for 6 hours, but it was enough to conceal their presence and give them some creature comfort before they resumed the march. All the facilities would be ready in the next day, however, and that included geothermal power, showers, bunks for up to 3 points, a full kitchen, basic armor maintenance facilities, and best of all a nanomachine hive for the production or repair of necessary equipment.

"Well, at least it is out of sight and out of mind," Amina said. "Oh, armor cubes! (3) Can we get out of armor?"

"You may, though we have no showers and bunks for another four hours," Megan replied evenly.

"Screw it, I want to breathe some fresh air," Thomas said. "By the way, isn't this facility going to cause a thermal bloom to anyone looking at the mountain?"

"Nope," Amina replied in a muffled shout as her armor deactivated and began opening up for her to exit. When she had emerged from the armor, she immediately stretched to relieve the cramps and kinks caused by her armor. "We're ten meters underground, and the nanos have striated the rock above us into insulation layers that will mimic the temperatures around us. The only way they could see would be the entry, but that is hidden under a boulder."

"We are far enough south that even snow on the mountains is a rare occurrence," Megan said as she began slowly working out the kinks in her limbs from the armor. "Unless they know we're coming, they aren't going to see us or this outpost."

"Command, Hawk, I have activity to my south. Eyes on suggests civilian foot traffic."

"Hawk, Command, eyes on and ensure stealth," Megan replied.

"Command, negative tango approach," Hawk reported. "Three civvies, two female plus one, late teens, at a rock outcropping 300 meters south of base entry. Setting out a picnic."

"Bit late for that," Amina said but not on the radio.

"Not much of an adventurous side?" Megan asked plaintively as she shrugged into one of three bathrobes waiting for her in her cube. It was patently impossible to wear anything more than undergarments while in armor, due to the way the armor worked with the body to coordinate movements and actions.

"Huh?" Amina asked.

"I was born on Atreus in the 441 dimension of the old Empire," Megan said, a fact unknown to the others with her. "Mostly jungle, in the standard history it is the capital of the Free Worlds League. Fairly close to Terra in conditions. Atreus 441 has a population of 2.2 billion."

"That's quite a bit for one planet," Amina replied. Most planets had a population of 1.5 billion, give or take. 3 billion was considered extremely overcrowded.

"Good agriculture, good exports, and a few good cities," she replied. "FWL Atreus usually sucks on Agri, but..." she trailed off.

"But yeah, without a hostile environment, you get a population imbalance," Thomas said to cut the conversation right to the chase. "How much of an imbalance?"

"40-60 split," Megan admitted, meaning that out of 100 persons, 40 were male and 60 female. It was a known phenomenon among the Magi, where the common (Terran) population split was 45-55 split M/F, the planetary environment tended to change the ratio by as much as + or – 15 percent. It had been a point of contention in the early years of the Multimage Empire, and was only exacerbated by the Star Empire Wars (where despite 100 percent equality in the Empire's army the forces were still skewed 75 percent male), but now it was accepted and understood fact.

"That means 440 million ladies in limbo," Thomas said. "Or, as is common..."

"It's not all that common," Megan admitted. Stools and a card table had been set up by the BNG for temporary seating until it could go back and do the non-critical material builds (proper furniture, decorations, etc). "Love is a hard thing to share in a three-way marriage unless you're really willing to give that much. I saw quite a few try and fold, and I saw quite a few rock-solid ones. Two-ways were more common, by about 6-to-1 or so."

"I keep forgetting that is not illegal in the Empire, just on certain ultra-reactionary planets," Amina replied. "Wait, you?"

"Was," Megan said with a clear load of sadness to voice. "Husband, Marcus Keeves, wife, Celes Rickix. They were killed in a car wreck against the rear of a wheeled armored personnel carrier that ran a red light in downtown Columbus, on Atreus. I was spared death that day because I was in the back seat; the prow of the car went under the personnel door and decapped both." It went without saying that death was instantaneous for her husband and wife; such accidents were more common with cargo trucks but just as fatal. "It was the Dynasty ambassador to the planet, his driver had been drinking at the party they were just leaving. The ambassador was stone-cold sober, his driver was not, and she didn't know until after the Military Police had tested the driver for blood in his alcohol."

"Diplomatic immunity?" Thomas asked quietly. Usually these stories ended with the deportation of the drunkard; cases where the drunk was actually prosecuted and executed for his misdeeds were the blaring exception to the norm.

"Actually not," Megan replied. "All three of us were Commandos; Marcus and I were Assault Ghosts, Celes was an Armor Sniper and Support Mage. Our unit swore the bastard wouldn't make it off planet alive if it came to DI, but the Ambassador personally handed the fop over to us. His trial was by the book, and his execution was by Pentite Canister Rifle. You can guess how that ended."

"Messy," Amina replied. The Pentite Canister Rifle was similar to the ancient C-10 Canister Rifle used by Terran Dominion Ghosts (of which the Magi Ghosts were an upgraded version), but the Pentite used in the standard 60mm Grenade Canister was more powerful than the original C-10 by more than half. One direct hit against an unarmored human would turn them into a widely-distributed collection of bloody scraps and a fine pink mist. Multiple direct hits, such as in a firing squad execution by a very pissed-off unit of Ghosts, only reduced the amount of bloody scraps and increased the dispersion of the pink mist.

"Wait, if you were on Atreus 441, how the hell did you end up in the Marine forces of the _Mjolnr_?" Thomas asked.

"Transfer. With the death of my husband and wife, I didn't see much reason to hang around. I asked for a random posting, I got this. And I'm glad I got it."

-x-x-x-

(16 April CE 72, 1700 Hours)

(Commercial Block 3, Mendel Colony, Sniper Bar and Grill)

"What'll it be?" the bartender in the central bar area asked.

"Scotch and rocks," Flay replied. She wasn't particularly a fan of drinking, but she did go out occasionally with the other office staff if for no other reason than to maintain the appearance of being an ordinary girl.

"Sweet Tart," Lunele answered a moment later.

"So, what are we looking at today?" Flay asked.

"What are you looking at?" Lunele asked in reply.

"I dunno, I always look for the real dark horse candidates," she admitted. "The ones that look like they aren't worth the time of day at 20 meters."

Luna grimaced. "Most of them aren't worth the time of day."

"Most of the Fabio-looking ones are good for bedtime fun and not much else," Flay said deadpan. The guy sitting next to her chuckled grimly at the comment but said nothing.

"Looking a little farther down the line than just the dating or entertainment scene?"

"And you don't?" Flay asked in counter.

"Nah, not for now. I'm twenty, plenty of time to make a choice like that," she admitted. "I take it you lost a good one," she asked after a few sips of her drink.

"Yeah, more than one," she admitted. "Was an Earth Alliance soldier on the same ship as me."

"_Archangel_?" Lunele asked for clarification.

"Yeah, I was transferred off the ship, he wasn't. I thought he died at Alaska, but the ship turned up in Orb, having defected. I think he's still alive, but probably betrothed to someone else now," Flay admitted.

"And the other?" Lunele seemed to be dwelling on a guy across the building. Flay couldn't tell who it was at a table of four, but she guessed it wasn't the token fat guy in the bar.

"Well, I was considering going out with the second before Heliopolis happened, but we went our separate ways when I met the first," she admitted. "Not giving names though, to protect the innocent in that incident."

Both were silent as they scoped out the crowd in the bar, though Flay had already decided that there wasn't anyone inside that she seemed the least bit interested in. Maintaining illusions was all and well, but this would end a night of nothing more than scotch and rocks and catcalls. Her second drink was the same way, though she made note that some military personnel had entered in their 'duty uniforms' and had taken seats to her left and slightly behind.

"Still looking over there," Lunele said.

"If I may make sure of one thing?" Flay asked, using a slightly more stylized Mendel phrasing to work her way further into blending in.

"Hit me," the executive secretary replied almost immediately.

"You're not...with the boss, are you?" Flay asked almost hesitatingly.

"Wait, what?" Lunele looked at the receptionist with a confused mien. "Serious? Where did you get that?"

"That little kiss you gave him yesterday, little after 2 PM," Flay countered.

"Oh, that was for the contract we just picked up, you know, for the subcontracting on the new Battle Armors. You think we – I – him?"

"I thought possible, but not likely," Flay replied.

"No, not at all. He's old enough to be my dad, and his wife is smokin' hot. I don't think Tina could get his attention if she showed up in a bikini." Tina was the Purchasing Coordinator for the office and maintenance groups, and Flay had to admit she was a bit jealous of said Coordinator's figure. Just a little, she would hedge, since hers worked for her well enough to get Kira's attention.

"That would chronically distract the floor teams," Flay grumped. Even as far as she concerned over the perversion of the guys, the floor crew were a generally horny bunch. They watched their step around the ladies, especially Flay since she carried a readily-visible 9mm pistol, but the catcalls and looks were always there. Nothing really demur, nothing that was directly degrading (Flay actually welcomed the attention), but it was notable.

"Er, right," Lunele grimaced. "We don't need them in the office, for sure."

"Toast to that," and Flay raised her glass. The two ladies drew a little attention from the patrons, but nothing came of it.

"You see anything you're going to try?" the Exec Sec asked.

"I may have an idea, but I'm not going to play that one tonight," Flay said, barely looking over her left shoulder at the table now occupied by a bunch of military. Three she recognized as pilots, the pilots of the Forbidden, Raider, and Calamity. The one with the pink hair was hanging all over a lady she didn't recognize, but the other two looked like they were unattached...

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

This is where the first side story of the Jokers Wild begins.

Covert Operations are one thing that I have a lot of inspiration for. Documentaries on the various black military and clandestine operations gives a good (if wildly incomplete) picture on how it is done. Tom Clancy provides the foremost inspiration from fictional source on how to interweave political, military, and espionage into a cohesive whole. Gundam SEED and SEED Destiny gives us plenty of reason to exercise all of the above – and multiple parties to use them on.

The greatest challenge of DFA is the background. SEED provides plenty of reason to use black ops, but often we only see the aftermath, not the actual operations. The Multimage Chronicles provides plenty of method to deliver those Black Ops, but often the outright warfare overshadows the necessity of clandestine ops. Interweaving these two elements into a cohesive showing of the black operations is the great challenge, and after a couple reads through this chapter I think I got it mostly right. A little polishing on the tactical application, a lot of polishing on the espionage, and this threatens to be as messy and charged as I can possibly make it.

NOTICE: I hope you saw the lack of 'James Bond' or any such expies in this chapter. I also hope it registered that there is no James Bond in this story, and if he does show up, well, M will be looking for a replacement in short order. I will admit the 007 movies are a fun watch, especially the most recent ones that have real gritty spy-novel twists to the plot, but this story is no territory for the suave or sophisticated. Tuxedos are still in closets and Martinis are not on tap in a world standing on the razor's edge of all-out race war. This is a job for the true professionals of intelligence gathering and clandestine operation; the glorified hitman can have his martini (shaken, not stirred, of course) and sulk while the real espionage work gets done.

Also, keep in mind the paramilitary and special operations angles shown here. Ghost Team 6 is an Assault Ghost formation; they are not particularly set up for the close-in espionage operations of the Recon Ghosts. On the other hand, they are trained and outfitted to get up close and real personal with things the command section need destroyed, so you can expect that angle in play. The USSA has already recommissioned their Special Operations Directorate (Read: they tracked the crazies down in the mountains and told them the EA lost), and now the USSA and Orb Special Forces are cross-training as part of the new-found detente in the 'second-string nations'. Orb, USSA, and the Mendel Protectorate have an under-the-table military relations codicil that the three nations intend on playing long and hard to achieve their separate but parallel ends, even despite the overwhelming advantages the EA and ZAFT hold against them.

And then there is the wild card: Blue Cosmos. Only they know what they want, only they know how they are going to do it, and thus far Mendel does not have penetration to their command level. This makes things dicey for the colony nation; where ZAFT has size and defensive depth to its advantages, Mendel does not, a sad state of affairs for an Empire that relies on its defensive game to win the wars. Flay acts as their controller in Mendel and their main purveyor of influence, but to what level of faith she has in the organization, only her heart knows. With events outside her purview likely to change her course, how will she end her part on the stage of the Cosmic Era? Pawn to Djibril? Reformed citizen of Mendel? Patriot of Orb, purveyor of neutrality and honor? In a convent, reformed of ways? I leave that up to your imagination for the time being, for I certainly do not know.

Thus ends the inaugural chapter of the new Dilemma of Flay Allster.

NEXT UP: Operations planetside continue in the great game of espionage; in Mendel, Flay begins establishing a tangled web of spies and intrigue, hoping to ensnare a prime source of intelligence in the same unit as the infamous Century Commander, Gerald Lightbringer. Will Flay spin her web true, or fail to catch this fly?

* * *

Review Replies: Though this is the first chapter, it is ultimately a revised story from the original. Thus, I believe replies are due to the last reviews from the original:

**FraserMage**: (Original Review): Good... I dislike Rau... Erm Rey anyway.

"FraserMage: As the Jokers Wild story goes onward, the matter with the large machines and the USSA using a lot of Newtypes will only get more prolific. Every army has their 'toys' when you get down to it."

Hmm... Did the Destroys even appear in this? (Maybe they did maybe they didnt... Though it would be fun to see a Mendel Tricked out Version of em..

**REPLY**: In the original, the Destroy Gundams made a minor showing, but where they really showed was cut off twice. When ZAFT assaulted the moon in Destiny, BC had plenty of time to complete five such machines; Mendel started with the moon, and only one was combat ready. The _Bonaparte_ and its prototype machine made itself real scarce during the invasion of Terra, and as such its machine was never pout into action before the land battleship was surrounded and captured. The four at Heavens Base were damaged beyond repair due to the suborbital bombardment from the _Mjolnr_ and _Nirvana Celeste_, and as such never saw action.

The art of war shows us that the best action is to deny the enemy the use of his best troops. Mendel teaches The Art of War to every soldier that goes through its academy, and how to apply it dynamically. Simple conclusion, ne?

**One-Village-Idiot**: (Original Review): Very nice. I only have two question: One, why does gerard prefer the heat saber? I always assumed that beam sabers were better, or maybe even Epyon's beam sowrd. What's your logic behind that?

And two, did Minerva actually recieve the signal and they ignored it, or did they somehow not hear it?

Man oh man, you always give some surpirses. when it comes to being unpredictable, you take first place.

Later.

**REPLY**: (1): Gerard uses a heat saber from Kika's Dom Tropen because it is inferior to beam sabers, and for the symbolism. Not only is he chopping up their d00dz, he's doing it with a weapon that is technically wildly outdated. Their pain shall be twofold.

(2): Minerva heard the transmission in question, they had their orders and the _Dominion_ was standing in the way. Of course, since Gerald cheats by default, they didn't quite meet their operation objectives...

(3): I love suprises, don't you? (teehee :)

**Knives91**: (Original Review): Yeah... I'm sure that it's pure coincidence...

Most excellent work. Nice battles too. More please.

**REPLY**: It has been so long, I have no clue what the coincidence was supposed to be.

Hope this qualifies as the opening to the request of 'more please' you like to see, amigo, because I guarantee there will be more of it to come :)

**Deathzealot**: (Original Review): HOLY FUCK! About time Shinn got what is coming to him. I see you kept the two GuAIZ R units the Minerva had during the first two episodes. I would think they would have been killed after Armory One. Rei is someone I never liked, so no skin of my back, but I do like the Hawke Sisters and Arthur was someone I always laughed at. Anyways a great chapter. I would love to see what happens to the others after this.

**REPLY**: Wow, if I get an allcaps HOLY FUCK for a review, I can only assume I have done something right :)

Kicking Shin's Ego down the stairs and stealing its lunch money was a goal after all the whining angst of Destiny. I'm over it now, but expect at least some of his conduct to show through in this story.

Those are actually not the GuAIZ from Armory One, remember that the first 4 chapters of Destiny were unchanged in the original Flight of Jokers Wild. Won't happen that way this time, but the same principle still applies: you can expect the Minerva will receive reinforcements as operations continue.

Rey, well, Rey rolled bad dice, and suffered a bad fate. Gerald seems to be one for handing such things out, though. Wonder if he will still get his end in this one, or not?

The other members of the crew will get some much-needed airtime in this side story, and maybe even some in the mainline Flight. Haven't done the dice yet for that one. As to what happens next, well, history has already been rewritten, so you can expect the Destiny itself to be altered just the same (or even stranger).

**Mantaarms1989**: (Original Review): Dang...

Nice response: Lots of action, Loved Gerard's Comeback to Captain Gladys.

Not-so-nice Response: The death of Za-Burrel was a little over the top. You may need to change the rating of this one to "m" because of that.

**REPLY**: Gerald is an old-school hardass of the first order; he showed some of that in Legend (particularly chapter 12, despite my fouling of other elements) and will show some more. His tale, however, is part and parcel with the Multimage Chronicles; expect him to truly earn his title 'Archangel of Solace' in those works and related side stories.

On the other part, well, I don't count chopping someone in half as requiring a 'M' rating; you get to see that on Die Hard With A Vengeance, and that is shown on broadcast television. If it flies on the basic channels (or the less risque cable channels), it can fly with a T rating as far as I can tell. Of course, this story may get a 'M' rating for elements to come, but I'm listing it as 'T' for now.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE INSPIRATION TO REDO THIS SIDE STORY! It is the reviews that fuel the soul, and it is the reviews that give me new ideas, fresh blood to which I can apply. Keep the reviews coming, this bonfire is just getting started!

* * *

The Gripe Sheet: No gripes yet, though one outstanding comment from **Necroblade**, my honored (and overworked) beta reader.

The use of Flashbangs in the entry phase of the assault on the warehouse was due to the mission profile. The Argentine Spec Ops mission was recon-in-force, snatch and extract any key intel from location. The use of fragmentation grenades tends to be very unhealthy to things your command section may want to be extracted, so the use of NFDs on entry is preferable. The one 'frag' they tossed (a paint bomb) was due to defense terrain favoring the blue side, they had to flush a particularly nasty entrenched foe, and the only way to do it with zero friendlies down was a frag.

* * *

Footnotes:

(1): **Walking Second** refers to walking in the number 2 position in a column. The number one position is properly called Walking Point, though is more often called 'Sniper Baiting'.

(2): **D-F** Is military shorthand for **D**irectional **F**inding, using multiple interception systems to triangulate the transmission location.

(3): **Armor Cubes** is a shorthand for Armor Cubicles, individual partitions for housing Infantry Armor (or, in this case, Ghost Armor) and the various weapons and accessories that normally go along with the armor (shield, infantry weapons, support weapons, ammunition harnesses, backpacks, etc).


	2. Hearts and Minds

(Jokers Wild Side Story 1: Dilemma of Flay Allster)  
(Chapter 2: Hearts And Minds)

(19 April CE 72, 1000 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, GFS Retail Foodsource)

"Egh, that looks...weird," Flay groused to herself, considering what she was looking at looked almost like roadkill in a jar. The really funky thing was the jarred food product was a plant of some kind, not an animal scraped off the pavement. She reached past it to grab some canned asparagus, necessary for part of her meal plans next week and continued onward in search of groceries.

On six of seven days in the average work-week, 1000 hours would see her at work, greeting customers and filing paperwork for the bosses. This being the seventh day for the schedule, Sunday, everyone was off-duty except for the janitor, who only worked a four-hour shift and then turned in. There wasn't much to clean in the office when nobody was around to mess the place up after all.

Flay marched onward, transiting from the canned goods to the baking goods. Much as her last trip, there was a group hanging around the cakes, the same group as it happened, less the nondescript one that had said nothing she heard in the prior week. "I'm shocked," the older guy said.

"Creepy," the one lady among them said.

"Yeah, I couldn't stop watching," the youngest of the four said.

"Funny as hell way to get rid of cake leftovers, but if I'd've joined in, my mom would've killed me," the eldest of the group said.

"Who the hell would ever have thought something so wrong at so many levels could still look so right?" the lady in their group asked.

This time, a fifth joined the group from around the corner; all four of the original crew jolted as if surprised. Flay took a quick gander as she compared Penne pasta, and wasn't surprised given what she had heard prior. The girl that had joined them was at least seventeen, maybe a bit older, and looked like a classic schoolgirl hot nerd. The massive glasses gave her an air of meganekko (1), almost innocent until you saw the lack of reservation in her eyes.

"It's called 'dread fascination', when you know it's going to squick you out and you just can't look away," the newcomer said.

"Oh, um..." the 'younger' guy said. "We didn't—"

"Thinking about asking again?" the meganekko asked, looking at the same area as the rest. "Might be a bit difficult, I heard eggs are in short supply this week."

"Well, that's no good," the lady said. "What do we do?"

"Only way to permanently solve the food shortages here and in the PLANTs is to permanently 'solve' Blue Cosmos," the meganekko replied. She was not referring to an inability to grow food in space (ZAFT's Junius colonies proved that possible), but the expectation that Blue Cosmos would repeatedly target food sources until they sparked another war.

"That sucks," the younger guy griped.

"Now what? No eggs, no cake, no dice," the lady said.

The meganekko snorted as Flay finally decided which box of pasta she wanted. "If it's just eggs, I have a few at home." she reached past the older guy to a pair of cake boxes, the cheap kind. "These buggers aren't cheap, but they're fun. C'mon over about 6 PM tonight and I'll give you all a baking lesson."

Flay evacuated the aisle and continued past two more to the beverages aisle. She needed tea, but more to the point she needed to get out of earshot of that group before she wretched her breakfast. Just on phrasing alone, the whole conversation could be considered innocuous, but the tone of voice they spoke in made the whole affair far from innocent. Flay had her guesses as to what they intended, and she could guess that thinking about it overlong would cause her to barf.

She wandered down the aisle until she arrived at the tea products, and was faced with a choice. The GFS in Mendel had four good varieties of tea, two flavored and two not flavored. Of the flavored, the one she did not like (Raspberry) was the cheaper, of the normal teas the one she preferred was the cheaper. She checked her budget card for the week, and came to the conclusion that she could get both the unflavored she preferred and the flavored that she liked (lemon).

Movement behind her drew her attention to the other person in the aisle, and she froze when it clicked who she was nearby. The Gundam pilot for the Calamity, Oruga Sabnak, was shopping for coffee. Very likely a requirement for the unit, she figured; Flay could not stand the stuff, despite the smell being ever-more-so enticing the longer she worked for Handel Manufacturing.

"Grh, how the hell do I get stuck with these things?" the pilot muttered to himself. "Cans, Colombian Coffee, 1 kilogram, four cans," he recited from his list before he looked up to the shelves upon shelves of coffee. "I hope these are right," he said before he pulled four of the large cans off the shelf. "Bloody wanking engineers..." he ground out each word through gritted teeth as he loaded each can into his cart; Flay could tell each can of the coffee was not cheap, apparently even for a Gundam pilot. "San Carlos Raspberry tea, two boxes...where the hell is raspberry tea?" he looked around on the wrong side of the aisle.

"Here," Flay handed him two boxes of the stuff she didn't really like.

"Thanks—oh, you," Oruga said.

"What?" Flay asked.

"You're always in the Sniper Bar 'n' Grill downtown, with that one chick that has light blue hair and a fetish for hot dumbasses," Oruga said.

"Have you been watching me?" Flay asked, shocked and creeped out at more than one level.

"Oh, 'bout as much as you watch me," he countered. His answer was enough to remind her that she had been giving the appearance of stalking him, and only the most dense guys would not have seen it. "Oruga Sabnak, Gundam pilot," he introduced himself. "You?"

"Flay Allster, not telling," she replied.

"Fair 'nuff," Oruga replied. "Thanks for pointin' out the tea. Have a nice day."

For her part, Flay was significantly surprised – almost incensed – that someone had been counter-stalking her. She resolved to return the favor quite a bit to the infuriating Gundam pilot – and make it a proper espionage detail by sucking him dry for usable info. _Hell_, she considered, _I may even be able to get access to the Century Commander he hangs around with_, she thought as she moved away from him, simulating a huffing fit for being stalked.

Internally, she thought she had found a replacement for the easily-manipulated Kira.

-x-x-x-

(27 April CE 72, 0400 Hours)  
(Earth Alliance, Atlantic Federation Old United States territory, State of Texas)

"You know, old wisdom says Texas is a wide-open range for steers and queers. Now that I'm in Texas and looking around, I'm not seeing much of either," Ghost Officer Thomas said over the intercom and charge lines the Ghosts were using. True to his word, the area they were in was expansive desert, populated with cacti and creosote bushes, and not much in the way of anything else.

"Oh, good Gods, I can't believe you said that," Ghost Officer Amina groaned.

"Shall I assign you to detached detail to find these mythic ranches for steers?" Star Commander Garibaldi asked after a few moments of marching in silence.

"What? Just the steers?" Thomas asked in retort.

"Bad intel," Ghost Officer Hawk replied. "This was Commanche territory, long ago. Homeland of my forefathers," Hawk Longfeather told the unit. "Texas, land of many things, especially cattle. Texas, because they resist who challenge them, falsely declared lands of steers and queers. True farmland of queers, look to California, land of fruits and nuts." He snorted. "Most words I said in many years."

"Interesting lesson," Amina admitted.

"Earth Alliance training base, New Edwards, California. Food for thought," Hawk added on for joke material. The whole unit could not help but laugh at the indirect parallel the point-scout had drawn for them.

"Wow, you dug hard on that one," Thomas replied acidic. He was born in California territory, though the planet in question was decidedly Magi long before he was born there.

"Welcome to the Magi Armed Forces, Commando Division. Bury your political correctness outside the borders, kiddies, not legal to be a wuss in the Ghosts," Amina replied with an oblique caution to the unit.

"Aye," Megan Garibaldi replied evenly. "Less territory jokes, more marching north, quiaff?"

"Aff," Hawk replied.

"Aye," Thomas replied slightly sarcastically.

_Just my luck, I have a Texan and a Californian in my unit. I don't see this ending well_, the Star Commander thought but did not say. That she was born an 'off-planet child' (not born on any instance of Terra) gave her a unique perspective on the argument, and she wasn't really liking the coming shitstorm in her own unit.

"Any of you guys see one of the new Fire Scout 'mechs from Hessian Weapons in action before we got marooned?" Amina asked out of the blue.

"Heard about it, never saw it," Thomas replied. "Looked pretty vanilla on paper, utility infielder with C3 and ECM. Hard to handle in mobs, but not really a firepower match for anyone else in their weight bracket."

"I heard it has a pretty steep price tag," Megan added.

"Not as steep as a Stormcrow, not by a long shot," Amina rebuked them. "Eleven and a half per machine, better armor than most classic Clan mediums."

"Only eleven and a half? That's not half bad for Medium reaches," Megan replied evenly. "Compared to something like the Crow Demon Omni, that's cheap." Crow Demon was the new-generation scout Omnimech for the Dark Moon, fast on land and with jump jets installed for every variant, making it ideal for finding and harassing the enemy.

"Crow Demon, now I have seen those in action," Thomas said. "Fast bastard, no doubt about that, but it lacks the guns or the heat sinks to really use what guns it has. When those Dark Moon pukes turn on the supercharger, it'll outrun some low-end helicopters on ground."

"At least until it blows their engine out," Amina groused. "Nobody has ever made a supercharger working right that didn't damage the engine if used long enough. I issue points to the Dark Moonies for trying, but we're back to the old Magi saw: speed is not armor, speed will not save your ass from a terminal case of lead poisoning. We've proved that time and time again in the bad old days."

"We just proved that a few months ago," Megan amplified Amina's comment. "ZAFT's machines have good speed, the Earth Alliance mass-pro units are small and nimble, and we still turned them into salvage. Reliance on speed instead of targeting systems and actual armor makes for a bad combination."

"Hold," Hawk ordered. "Strike Dagger ahead."

"Roaming patrols?" Megan asked.

"Aff," the point-man replied. "Coyotes on the move."

"How do Cherokee deal with Coyotes?" Thomas asked after a moment, showing that any 'territory hostility' he had was less than operational loyalty and camaraderie.

"Old days, bow and arrow. Nowadays, rifle. This kind of Coyote? Be somewhere else."

"Solid plan for me," Megan replied. "We swing west, go behind him. Never seen, never heard, never known."

-x-x-x-

(29 April CE 72, 2000 Hours)

(Commercial Block 3, Mendel Colony, Sniper Bar and Grill)

_Someone has a sense of humor_, Flay thought but did not say aloud. The song she had walked in on was a 'new' phenomenon sweeping the Protectorate, in that the music involved from the jukebox was not some variant of metal music. It was classic Vocaloid music, produced by artificial voice synthesizer programs to emulate a real person singing. The songs only really counted as 'new' in the sense that they weren't overused like _Nightwish_ was, but the songs still counted as the original Vocaloid Series 2 songs and had a shelf-age of at least 15,000 years relative to the Magi Empire.

The truly humorous part came in the song thereafter. Someone had decided they didn't like the Vocaloid-and-other-forms-of-SynthPop wave, so they were going to play an 'off' song in direct counter. Flay didn't really recognize the song that came up next, but after a Scotch and Rocks it didn't matter. The repeated title drop in the song 'The Great Milenko" and sharp vocals said enough: this was a song clearly intended to offend someone. From some of the looks worn by the younger patrons of the Sniper Bar and Grill, said song was achieving its purpose.

Flay decided she'd start scoping out the bar for her target, though she didn't intend on making it look like she was dwelling on him if he was present. A second scotch and rocks began the search, and finding him wasn't all that difficult; he had one spot of two at a two-stool table near the back of the bar. The other stool was held by an older guy in Magi standard uniform, though as Flay swept over said older guy he left for the bathrooms. She made eye contact with her target briefly, but continued her sweep before Oruga would think she was looking at him.

"How's that scotch and rocks treating ya?" the head bartender (and titular Sniper of the establishment) asked.

"Pretty good," Flay said. "Quick question, amigo," she said before he turned away.

"Hit me," the Sniper replied.

"To my left, back wall, two man table, dude in a pilot's uniform."

"Eyes on," the Sniper said, meaning he clearly recognized who Flay was talking about.

"You know anything about him? He keeps looking my way," Flay said.

"Little," the Sniper said. "Gundam pilot, recovered from the _Dominion_ back when we captured that ship. Was a 'druggie' pilot, used some powerful neuros and stims to match ZAFT's best. His Gundam can lay down a hurtin' on anything at medium range or closer, but is terminally weak against anything that gets close. Far as I know, kid's not assigned to a permanent duty station, which means he answers direct to the Century Commander."

"Interesting," Flay said in fake, knowing that much already. "Seen him with any girls?"

"Twice," the bartender-sniper replied. "Once with a ZAFT officer old enough to be his mother, if she started young that is." 'Started young' in Magi context was 14, and though such was not unheard of it was generally frowned upon since opportunities for proper work and child support were few and far between for 14-year-olds. "Other time was with one of the engineers from LNC Engineering, I think it was Asagi Caldwell of said trio. That didn't end well."

"Yet more curious," Flay said; the dating info was news to her, and something of an opportunity. "What's his choice drink?"

"Alternates between Sake Bomb and a Steiner PPC," the former drink being an amalgam of sake and rice wine, the latter being grain alcohol and peppermint schnapps. Flay grimaced, since she knew both of those were 'slammer' drinks, and she wasn't a slammer.

She needed to play "slightly hard to get" to avoid arousing suspicion, but she figured if he was available now would be a good time to start in on him. It took her months to get Kira worked up into a frenzy, and that ended up turning out badly over the long haul. A slower pace and more deliberate but subtle cadging could possibly work wonders – so long as she could avoid the prying eyes and thoughts of the Strategic Psionic.

On the other hand, a pilot that reported directly to the Century Commander would be an immense haul in terms of both operational prestige and direct intelligence.

"I dunno, kid," the sniper-turned-bartender commented, reading and misgauging her thoughts. "All things considered, you can probably do better, and you can probably do worse. His amigos are either worse or already taken."

"The one with the white hair kinda freaked me out when I saw him," Flay sympathized.

"That's the 'worse' one of the three. The pink-haired pilot is constantly hanging all over one of the LNC engineers, Mayura I think."

Flay knew that already from her intel briefs. How or when Clotho and Mayura got together was not clearly known, but it was rumored to have been fueled by several drinking binges, partying, and some kind of indeterminate competition between the two. Since the shooting stopped, Clotho and Mayura had been dating steadily and publicly, and it was believed by BC intel that the two were sexually involved. This was of significant value to Blue Cosmos, since the use of Mayura as extortion chips against Clotho could possibly force a defection for the Raider pilot, or so they believed. Flay wasn't so sure that Clotho wouldn't just hamburger the involved Blue Cosmos personnel for trying it, instead of defecting.

"Doesn't sound half bad," Flay concluded. "Got a piece of paper and pen?"

"Yeah," the Sniper said.

Flay wrote a brief message on the inverted order slip: 'Changed my mind. Call me,' and added her phone number to the paper. "Whip him up a Sake Bomb and add it to my tab. Tape this to the bottom of the glass, let's see if he's observant enough to get the message."

"Roge-o, girl," the sniper said. It only took him 90 seconds to add the note to the base of the tumbler and mix the drink.

Flay was out the door before the waitress delivered the drink. She had little doubt the pilot would catch the note, but whether he even tried was a bit of a mystery to Flay.

-x-x-x-

(30 April CE 72, 1300 Hours)

(Orb Military Training Facility 2, Urban Operations Assault Course briefing hall, Onogoro Island)

"ODOT Team Three, reporting for assignment, sir!" the Captain in charge of the ten-man squad said after his salute.

"As you were, Captain," Colonel Ledonir Kisaka replied with his own salute. "Been a while, 'Stiffy'," he said after he offered his hand for a shake.

"Damn straight, 'Bones', heard you had some time out in the sandbox," Captain Alistair Vickson said.

"North Africa, ZAFT's Waltfeld Team," Colonel Kisaka replied. "Tough customers, but not really good at spec ops. They made up for it in overkill points, though." The fate of Tassel itself was just one example among many in North Africa what toll they took on those suspected of resisting ZAFT's reign.

"That may be the one advantage we have over ZAFT, if it comes to blows again," the Captain opined. "Mendel?"

"We've heard some noise about their Spec Ops group, and what noise I'm hearing is not friendly at all," Ledonir admitted.

"Yeah, those Ghost stories are just plain creepy. I mean, we're pretty close to invisible compared to regular formations, but those rumors are Oh-My-God worse if they're even half true," the Captain said.

"Well, we're scheduled to play a five-day ops game against some of their operators in about three months, I was thinking about your team and OSAT five, see if I could shake 'em up and get them to give something out."

"Besides an ass-whoopin' on us, you mean?" Alistair asked fairly.

"Until we figure out their gameplan, that will probably be what it amounts to," Ledonir admitted. "Enough about that for now, my friend. We have a briefing and training op to conduct."

"Fall in, boys, at ease and eyes open." the Captain ordered. The team pulled folding chairs from the rack against the wall and formed a semi-circle around the lectern and display Colonel Kisaka had set up on.

"All right, gentlemen, this is going to be a fairly standard training operation. Scenario is simple: as of four hours ago, a group of unidentified terrorists using Earth Alliance-bloc weapons stormed a mid-rise office building where the Chief Representative was conducting business meetings. They are confirmed to be holding her hostage; their demand is that we break all treaties with Mendel and the PLANTs. They say the Senate has 4 hours to rescind them all, and they have a specific list of what goes. The Senate will likely not even hear the matter before the deadline, so we've been asked to go in."

"Fine time, that," Captain 'Stiffy' replied.

"Your primary objective: make entry by stealth means, locate the Princess, extract her alive and preferably unharmed. Your secondary objectives: capture alive at least one terrorist and extract any other hostages. Also in the secondaries: capture or kill all terrorists, but keep in mind your primary does not require killing them all. If any of the Princess' security detail is found alive, extract if possible. Questions?"

"Clear, sir," the unit's older sniper answered immediately.

"Operational details known: minimum five terrorists, assume seven or more. Princess Cagalli's security detail was two persons, including Alex. We do not have figures on how many were in the negotiation group from Copernicus, but four sounds like a decent floor figure. Expect personnel from the building as well, but be wary: they may be inside men for the terrorists. We do not know if they had inside help or not, but it would be prudent to assume so. Good to go?"

"Sir!" the scout replied.

"Terrain is urban; your snipers will have plenty of buildings to move around in for cover, but keep in mind that the buildings may also be hostile and may be booby-trapped." The snipers groaned in unison; if the briefing said they 'may' be booby-trapped, chances are they 'would' be booby-trapped. Such things weren't usually mentioned unless they were going to happen.

"Well, we can't expect them to be dumb terrorists," the younger sniper griped.

"We plan on losing two on the approach, then," the Captain said.

"Lucky bloody us," the heavy weapons specialist griped.

"One other thing. Police SWAT teams have formed up and cleared the area of civilians, except for in the building in question. You won't have to worry about civilians on approach, unless someone exits the building while you are in transit."

"Got it," the older of the assaulters noted. He was the team member usually tasked to render harmless anyone they came across without injuring them, and to point routinely carried a set of zip-tie handcuffs to secure civilians to nearby objects.

"That concludes the operation details. Chain of command is as follows: I have operations command, Captain Vickson has ground command, inside your unit is standard rank and seniority. Also, keep in mind that since Chief Representative Athha is technically inside my command structure, you are obligated to take orders from her, but remember that your mission is paramount. Insubordination in this case may be frowned upon, but losing the Chief Representative in some damn-fool counterattack action would be more so. Follow?"

"Aye," the one transplanted 'squid' in the unit replied, a former Navy radioman who decided the Orb Naval forces were not 'hardcore' enough for his tastes and signed up for the Orb Defensive Operations Tactical (ODOT) teams.

"That's it for the briefing," Colonel Kisaka said. "Any questions?"

"If we win, who's buying the beers?"

"The OpFor, of course," Colonel Kisaka said. It was how debts and victors were settled during training exercises like this.

-x-

"Sniper 2, in position. Eyes on one threat, far side of the range, I have a clear shot."

"Stand by until Sniper 1 is in position," Captain Vickson ordered.

"Sniper 1, device disarmed in my building, moving to high ground." The sound of two clicks came across the radio about four seconds later. "Tango down, no radio on this one. I have position, ready in ten."

"Sniper team, on my mark, drop any sentries. Scout, assaulters, demo, heavy, radio, medic, that order, as soon as the main sentries are down." the Captain ordered, giving the movement orders that would begin the assault.

"One," the first sniper replied. "Two," the elder sniper added after a moment.

"Mark," the Captain ordered. Two shots rang out simultaneously, and after a moment the muttered curses of the vanquished could be heard over the forest din and echoes between the buildings.

The eight-man entry team surged forward to the perimeter of the structure, moved to an open window on the lower floor of the building, and began entry as quickly as possible. Speed would be key in this match; the less time taken, the less likely the terrorists would be to realize what tornado hit them, and less likely they would spray down the hostages with simunition and thus render their operation a waste. The first man in the window went left, his H&K MP-8 up and sweeping around for threats and then centered on the door to handle any possibly incoming threats.

"Gunshots? Above us?" the Heavy Weps specialist asked.

The bark of an assault rifle was answered by more pistol shots. "Time to move, the guys upstairs are getting frisky," the Captain ordered.

"Sniper 2 reporting, I have eyes on Alex Dino and a Mendel officer fighting a defensive action against minimum two with assault rifles. I have no shot, obstructions in the way. No sign of primary objective."

"Sniper 1, no shot," the younger sniper added after a moment's silence. "Primary objective located, southeast conference room."

The team stacked on their room's door, the scout and assaulters the first in line to exit the room. They heard two persons stomp past the room, headed upstairs fast and noisy, and a third that straggled before the scout opened the door. The scout did not shoot the straggler on his way out the door, since the lady-'terrorist' in question was not in his field of operations. The first of the assaulters did give her a three-round burst in the back, which caused her to screech and audibly shit herself from pure fright. _Office puke_, the assaulter thought but did not say.

The demolition expert came out next, his assault rifle trained down the hall at the building's front entrance. Nothing was moving from that end, but his job was usually rearguard detail and that door was the 'rear' of their advance intention. The light machine gunner of the unit focused right, ready to lay down a base of fire if the enemy realized there was someone behind them on the first floor, as opposed to the enemies between them and the Princess. After moments of inactivity on the ground floor, the unit began shifting north as the remainder of the personnel entered the central hallway.

"Fire's picked up," the scout said in a hushed whisper, barely audible to the others over their tactical radio network.

"Stairs drill, people," the Captain ordered as they approached the stairs headed to the top floor. It was a staircase with a landing / direction reverse in the middle, which made their job a bit easier since there were no doors to the left or right of the stairs. The stairs drill consisted of the three best-armed among them moving up the staircase backwards, allowing them to keep their guns trained upward toward the top of the stairs to counter any possible ambush waiting for them. Given the way the sides were trading fire on the next floor, however, an ambush was unlikely and never came to pass as the unit made it to the mid-way landing.

The scout inched forward and up the next incline of stairs, ostensibly to do his job and hopefully not be seen. To achieve this nigh-impossible goal, he used a barrel-mounted camera system to look over the top edge of the staircase without exposing himself to fire.

The scene up top ran shivers up and down his spine. A whole floor in chaos, the enemy had been divided roughly in two by Alex Dino and a Mendel Star Colonel, the latter who held a conference room to the right (west side of the building) and were using their position to try and stage a breakout. Two simulated terrorists and four simulated civilians were downed in the halls; the Scout had no way of knowing how long they had been down or who had done it, but he had a suspicion they were dropped during the initial storming of the conference.

"Beirut, boss," the Scout said, unit shorthand for 'it's bad and isn't improving'.

"Wes, get up here," the Captain ordered to the heavy weapons specialist in the unit. "Walter, rearguard." the Commo sergeant didn't even blink hard at the change in plans, just ducked back down the stairs to take up revised position.

"In position," the heavy weapons specialist declared. He was still hunched down below the level of the stairs, but the massive M405 SAW he carried was shouldered and ready to unleash a torrent of paint.

"Advance to point. Give 'em hell," the Captain ordered. Over the firing a mere eight meters ahead of them, it was heard only by way of their tactical radio set.

Without further word, the team sprang into action, but not before the battle changed tide. The Mendel Star Colonel (why she was here, nobody knew short of the exercise coordinator) lost her gambit in the side conference room, a pair of rifle slugs in the ribs and one over the left breast pocket; even for the genetically-engineered of Mendel, three chest shots still amounted to a death sentence. Alex took a pair in the right arm, one in the right shoulder, and two singles to the waist, low enough to eviscerate but not immediately kill, putting him out of action.

The enemy victory celebration was short-lived courtesy of Specialist 2/c Wesley's squad assault weapon. 'Wes' loosed a burst between the legs of the nearby terrorist who had come up from the ground level, aiming not for her but for the two in the distance at the main conference room. His aim, with ten years of experience on the M405, was right on the money as demonstrated by a chest full of red paint for the two guys wielding Earth Alliance bullpup assault rifles.

The assaulters took care of the 'detail work' on the two nearby terrorist-stand-ins, and did it in classic military humor fashion. The lower-velocity pistol rounds in 10mm left much larger splotches of red paint on the butts of the two Orb second-line support troops playing the roles of terrorists. Both shouted in extreme surprise when their butts were stung with the paint markers, though the shock was somewhat dulled when they took shots in the back from the same weps.

"GO GO GO!" the Captain shouted after the visible four were downed. "Medic to Alex, snipers!" he chained a pair of orders together, which the team understood implicitly. Drilling had turned them into machine like no other, acting as much on their collective instinct and conditioning as they were acting on training and orders.

The medic entered and quickly swept the room the Mendel Star Colonel and Alex had been fortified in, then dragged him into the room to begin simulated first aid. Unsurprisingly, the Star Colonel was pronounced administratively dead from her wounds, given that they would have been individually survivable but in combination she would have bled out far too rapidly to help. The medic had to admit the Mendel officer played the part of a dead body fairly well, even as she was theoretically seeing to Alex's wounds she moved not a whit until prompted. "You all right, Star Colonel Fletcher?" Alex asked.

"I keep forgetting how much simunitions hurt when you take a hit," she said without physically moving more than enough to breathe. "Basic CQB was a long time ago..."

The snipers had changed positions in the confusion generated by their first shots, and when ordered into action again they generated more confusion by firing into the windows of the target room. There was no question of hitting a target, given that glass tended to deform and deflect bullets off their aimpoint, but the confusion of paint rounds hitting the windows would draw attention back to the windows and away from the door the ODOT was approaching.

The Assaulters took the initiative and charged the door, trading circumspection for sheer shock value in their attack. It was also partially calculated bravado in their actions; they wanted to demonstrate at least to the Princess/Chief Representative that if she was ever taken hostage, the Orb military would pay whatever toll in blood was needed to get her back. The two Assaulters lowered their left shoulders and crashed into the doors of the conference room, in the process flinging them open wildly in a move calculated to scare the hell out of the persons in the room.

Judging by the expressions of the people in the room, the effect was partially achieved. Three of the terrorists were caught looking the wrong way, with a fourth looking toward the doors. That one, a military police officer by trade, even had his weapon pointing in the right direction and leveled; he engaged the lady assaulter on flinch reaction, though both Tina (the assaulter he shot) and Sebastian (the other assaulter) engaged him with two bursts apiece. Tina knelt to signify being hit, which also cleared the way for Wesley and the demolitions officer to engage on the right flank in the room. Wesley transfixed one of the terrorists in the back and right shoulder with nine rounds, Sebastian tagged a low burst on the leftmost of the terrorists facing away, and the demo specialist put two paint slugs into the side of the third from a semi-automatic shotgun.

"Left clear!" Sebastian shouted audibly instead of over the radios.

"Right clear!"

"Chairwoman secured!" Captain Vickson declared on the open radio frequency for the exercise.

"Exercise concluded. You can stop playing dead now," Colonel Kisaka announced over the building's intercom systems.

"Damn good! Chalk another one up for ODOT!" Wesley said after he safed and slung his light machine gun.

"Now, why do we have a Mendel...Star Colonel..." Captain Vickson trailed his sentence off when he realized said Mendel officer had crept up on him, which was not all that difficult a task given how much his ears were ringing.

"I was actually in an impromptu conference with Lady Cagalli when Colonel Kisaka requested she play the part of a dutiful hostage. When she said 'yea', he asked Alex and myself to join."

"Those things really do sting," Alex grumped, rubbing his torso where he would have taken a pair of hits. "I think I got four, but we were just too badly outnumbered," he said.

"There were a freaking lot more of 'em than we expected," the Scout griped. "Five, six tops; fifteen is definitely not normal for a stunt like this."

"Welcome to Blue Cosmos' new tactics, ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Kisaka said as he climbed the stairs. "Their only real Special Forces asset worth mentioning was the Extended program, and Mendel has proven how useless that is. Force of numbers and enhanced training is their new paradigm, and our training will have to change to reflect."

-x-x-x-

(4 May CE 72, 1800 Hours)

(Commercial Block 3, Mendel Colony)

_This feels real weird_, Flay thought but definitely did not say.

Even if she didn't say it, the thought must have registered on her face. "Something wrong?" Oruga asked after a moment.

"Something doesn't feel right, right now, but I'm not sure what it is," Flay answered. She felt like she was being stalked, but nobody seemed obvious in their tracking of her.

"There's someone staring at you," Oruga said. "Don't flinch, give me a moment," he continued staring at a building, though Flay knew the technique. He was looking off-angle to observe the threat but look like he was looking at something else. "Guy, my height plus five, scrawny, brown and brown, about twenty meters off the back strap of your purse."

"Pervert or stalker?" Flay asked.

"Looks like a pervert with a crush on you," Oruga said after a moment. "Idea?"

Flay made an exaggerated gesture in the direction of a restaurant. "Let's go that way," she said.

"Is cornering ourselves such a good idea?" Oruga asked after a moment's hesitation, though without any force to it.

Flay didn't have to drag him into the restaurant in question, which was somewhat endearing to her. Kira did have to be dragged in that fashion, and more to the point he did what he could to dodge her when she wasn't on duty; even to the point of living in the cockpit of the Strike for days on end. Flay knew why he had dodged her, at least until she finally settled him down. It proved the validity of her plan, but not her timeline: Kira had done what she wanted when she had him under her control, but he neither destroyed himself nor succeeded in defending the ship to the end (at least under her control).

Her plan this time around was just as thorough, but less impulsive and far less hasty. Blue Cosmos was reeling from its failures in recent months, giving Flay the time necessary to properly compromise Oruga and turn him into her puppet. With luck, she could even possibly semi-compromise his direct superior, the Century Commander of Mendel's Mobile Forces.

"Thinking hard again?" Oruga asked after they stepped into the restaurant.

"Trying to remember if I've been here before," Flay semi-lied. She slightly recognized the place, but she couldn't remember what for.

"C'mon," Oruga led her to an open table, given the restaurant was an informal affair. Both were seated and menus permanent to the table were opened.

"Oh, I remember this place now," Flay said. "We did a dinner party here for work after we won the parts contract to M-I-E. Excellent Fajitas, though I didn't try the various mixed drinks or imported beers."

"I think I may try this Island Rum Runner," Oruga said. It didn't strictly match the bulk of the menu or offerings, but it sounded more interesting due to the fact that Oruga had a bit of a fear of anything made with tequila. When Clotho got into the tequila, bad things happened. When Clotho and Mayura got into the tequila together, worse things happened. Oruga figured it best he did not try.

"I'll try this Dos Equis beer," Flay mused aloud.

"I'll be right back with your drinks," a prior-unseen waitress said.

"What made you change your mind?" Oruga asked after the drinks had been delivered.

Flay was expecting his question, and knew she had a good angle to play on the Gundam pilot. "Mainly because you don't look or act like the typical military meat-head, and I wasn't getting anywhere with the usual bar-flies, so I figured I'd take a shot." Oruga chuckled. "What's funny?"

"Wasn't expecting to see or hear anything of you again, so when I got the free drink and the note taped on the bottom of it, I was kinda surprised." He shifted his gaze toward the door. "Your pervert tracker just walked in the door."

"What's he doing?" Flay asked, loath to look in that direction.

"He just pissed himself when he realized I have my hand on my sidearm," Oruga noted in a matter-of-fact fashion. "He's out the door, and looks to have knocked over a trinket stand in the kiosk row." Ten seconds later, "He's gone. At least he was respectful enough to pull the stand back up."

"Good," Flay said without emotion. She carried a 10mm pistol of her own for the express purpose of preventing a stalker or pervert having their way with her. Flay knew she wasn't suited to hand-to-hand combat, and for centuries the first and foremost equalizer among men and women was the firearm.

"Predators are a funny bunch," Oruga said nonchalantly. "They're all big and tough and intimidating when they work on their victims, but present resistance or an asymmetrical response and most freeze in fear."

"True," Flay admitted. She had seen the type during her official Blue Cosmos training regimen, and a few had even tried her. A few of them lost teeth when she had rammed the muzzle of her firearm down their throat, but most were smart enough not to push it that far.

"Y'know, you never did say what you did," Oruga prompted.

"Huh?" Flay took a moment to remember what he was referring to. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I do purchasing and accounting for Handel Manufacturing in Industrial Five." She took a sip of her beer, and was mildly impressed by it. "And you...Gundam pilot, you said?"

"Yeah, X-131F, Gundam Calamity modified."

"X-131, that's not a Magi Gundam, is it?" Flay asked, knowing the answer already due to her extensive pre-mission briefing.

"No, captured Earth Alliance," Oruga replied. "I was an EA Extended pilot, until the _Dominion_ was captured by the Magi. They cleaned us Extended up and gave us a chance to beat some asses off the guys that were trying to burn us up."

"What do you mean by 'cleaned up'?" Flay asked, not sure what that meant since her briefings had given only info on him and his machine, not on the Extended program overall.

"Well, as part of the Extended Program, me 'n' my compatriots were given a chemical called Gamma Glipheptin. Chemically, it's effectively a cross between methamphetimine, heroin, taurine, and a polymerization agent. Funny thing is, the way it is made makes it a variant of cyanide when the body breaks it down, so they were burning us hard to try and kill the _Archangel_." Flay grimaced; she did not like the thought of someone trying to kill the _Archangel_ and specifically Kira, and she less liked the thought of the EA using a poison to amp up its soldiers. "The Magi grabbed us and used medical nanotechnology to clean it out. I still have to take a nano treatment every other day to counter withdrawal symptoms, but in about six months I'll be completely clean."

"Wow...that's nuts," she said, never having known any part of that for the Extended program. Flay had no problem using people in the past, but sleeping with Kira and watching him nearly destroy himself to protect her was the single most painful thing she had ever done to herself. Nowadays, she looked out for those around her, even if she was otherwise required to have them execute a likely no-win mission.

If what Oruga said was right (and she had little reason to doubt it, his profile put him as the straightest and most honest of the three pilots), she was working for an organization even more monstrous than she thought possible, much less could tolerate.

-x-x-x-

(12 May CE 72, 1100 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Mendel Aerospace Engineering and Licensing)

"So here's the question," Jeane said to her comrade at the reception desk. "Will we, or won't we?"

The other receptionist, a vanilla immigrant from ZAFT, simply laughed. "Throughout history, the Magi had a bit of a habit of having a 'go-to company' for all their really bizarre projects. Need a 'mech built to certain specs? Call Hessian Weapons. Infantry Armor or Battle Armor productions? Galdon Technologies. Warships to build? Heilsen Shipyards and Engineering. See a pattern?"

Jeane had been picked for this detail for just exactly what she had been asked: sharp wit and immense analysis skills, as well as a perfectly clean background. Theoretically, nobody would ever know she was Blue Cosmos... "So, you're saying we're becoming one of those go-to companies, only for aerospace projects?"

"Oh yeah," Mackenzie, the other lady at the desk, said with something of a hint of pride to voice.

"So what's the flavor of this week?" Jeane asked.

"New model aerofighter. Small, masses less than most Battlemechs, even smaller than most MS. Decent armor for its size, but here's the kicker: it's an upgrade of the Skygrasper fighters the Earth Alliance uses to support the Strike Gundam."

"Upgrade? How?" Jeane asked, immediately sensing a big red flag that needed to be photographed and sent to LOGOS.

"Well, I heard it's being upsized, new engine, new avionics (2) and electronics, and revised arsenal. Those are the requirements they've been working under, though I don't know what they came up with yet."

"Damn, that sounds sweet," Jeane said, playing the part of a dutiful ex-EA civvie.

"Crowner's the price per unit; lead engy on the project thinks he can build one for less than a quarter of the cost of a Thunderball, and almost a fifth of the cost of a Fireball."

"Spam that ass-whoopin', I say," Jeane said, using a common Mendel military phrasing for firing a weapon repeatedly in a short amount of time. It also went a long way to cementing her cover of being a Mendel patriot and Earth Alliance expatriate. "Well, I should say, 'spam it' so long as we get the contract for 'em," she corrected herself.

"I hear that. Much more stable if they're going to buy 'em in lots." Mackenzie was referring to what many military analysts referred to as the 'Magi logistical clusterfuck', and to which Jeane had been ordered to learn as much as possible about how the Magi handled logistics. She was still trying to figure out how mobile forces were purchased or traded among the units, with an amalgam of internal trial by combat, barter, budgetary exchange, and even external cash-in-hand purchases being used to acquire new machines or trade existing ones. It looked like insanity to an 'unwashed' Blue Cosmos agent, but it worked for the Magi – and they claimed it worked very well.

"Quarter of the price of a Thunderball. That puts it, what, twice more than a traditional Skygrasper?"

"Twice and a fraction more, I think," Mackenzie admitted.

The planning and procurement conference had begun before Jeane began her workday. Mendel Aerospace Engineering had two receptionists, Mackenzie and the new hire Jeane, the latter whom replaced the old lady who had been gunned down during the abortive Blue Cosmos raid on the facility. The shifts they worked were staggered to provide front desk coverage for the entire work-day, which for MAE ran from 0700 to 1900. Thus, she had no idea who the Magi officer inside the conference room was, but the voice sounded gravelly and worn even through the conference room door. "How long have they been at it?"

"About four hours."

"Bets?"

"Five for," Mackenzie held up a folded five-note.

"That bad?" Jeane asked, knowing that her coworker did not bet anything more than a one-note bill on most office matters.

"Yeah, I think we have a winner. All the more so that making it is going to be a lot easier and a lot cheaper than even the Thunderballs."

"Every time I hear that name pluralized, I think someone made a porno with that name sometime in the past," Jeane said, both in truth of the thought and to sound a little more ingrained into the area.

"Thunderballs? If it's a typical porno, it's probably one guy boffing every skirt on screen. Bonus points if they make it seem like every lady likes it."

Jeane grunted in response; even if she hadn't seen one specifically named as they discussed, she had seen one too many that fit the description as advertised. She was disgusted by the whole industry, though she didn't normally speak out about it.

The door opened to the conference room, and the first out the door was the company CEO. The second out the door (much to Jeane's mental dismay) was the Century Commander of Mobile Forces (Mendel), Gerald Lightbringer. "Your proposal has merit, Howie. Numbers look good, except for the one sticking point I highlighted, which in this environment isn't going to be a problem. The Red Team drill also looks solid, so I would suggest you go forward with a prototype frame."

"I think we can work one up in six months or so, if you can provide an engine?" the CEO asked as his executive secretary closed the conference room behind them.

"An engine will be ready at that time," CC Lightbringer said. "If it is capable of half of what you say it is I don't see much of a problem acquiring a few."

This caused the CEO to frown mightily, despite the good news. "The Galaxy Commander of Aerofighters would not object?"

"G-C Rico grew up in a Batu omnifighter, and promoted to Sabutai, then Kirghiz, then Fireball. He knows the whole gamut of fighters, and he respects the smaller and cheaper craft just as much as the hulking Omnis. This one provides flexibility in a nonstandard fashion; I am sure Rico would not overlook that."

"And finance, sir?" the Executive Secretary asked. Jeane couldn't overlook the sheer heap of undertone she gave her pose, her prompting, and even her look at the Century Commander.

"I don't think I can talk the boss into dropping a note on this one; it looks good to me but the boss thinks closer to naval than I do. I'll line the pocket on this one from my 'Beer fund' that I was planning to use on building my own merc unit. If it flies, call it an investment in the classification. If it bombs, I'll probably stick it somewhere and roll it out as a museum piece or something. Follow?"

"Works for me," the CEO said, now assured that he wouldn't be left holding his crank if things went sour, and also assured that someone high up in Mendel had some confidence in the effort. "We will keep you apprised of the progress on the prototype. Will you have a pilot ready for it?"

"I already have a pilot on retainer for weird jobs like this one. More than one, technically."

"Vhen Ra?" the CEO asked. "Same guy you had in the Thunderball prototype?"

"The same, and one other," Gerald Lightbringer said.

"Do you have lunch plans as of yet, Century Commander?" the CEO asked as the three headed out the front doors.

What the Century Commander had for an answer, it was unheard by the receptionists.

"Did you see that?" Jeane asked, still staring at the doors.

"You mean Miss Allison?" Mackenzie replied, referring to the Executive Secretary. The BC plant simply nodded. "Oh, that was about as obvious as a coal pile would be here in the foyer. She's giving quite a bit more than presentations tonight."

"Isn't that illegal?" Jeane asked, silently hoping she could cough up some dirt on the Century Commander and possibly poison his career.

"Not among the Magi," Mackenzie said with finality. "The procurement process does not culminate with the signature of one man, it all has to go by the books. She can screw him until their retirement packages kick in and it won't factor into the final decision process. Besides, if we get the contract because she went were many girls have gone before, I'm not exactly going to complain."

-x-x-x-

(20 May CE 72, 2045 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Another date with Oruga ended on a weird note for Flay, but not the manner of weird that dissuaded her from keeping trying. This night it had been a private table at the Sniper Bar and Grill, beers and a basket of chicken tenders shared between them. To Flay it felt more romantic than it really had been, though she could not tell why it had been that different. The bar and the bar food was really unchanged from usual, and Oruga certainly hadn't been any more or less creepy than Flay thought of him.

The discussion had gone from work to personal and back to work, then back to personal again. Flay had opened with a quick rundown of what she did for Handel Manufacturing, just purchasing materials and tracking things. Oruga found it a bit interesting, especially since he took out a worker MS from time to time to help in salvaging the junk in the L4 colony area. That junk ended up being the material that Flay frequently purchased for the company, and scrap she sold back to the materials re-processors for conversion into eventual new material. The curved multi-composite plates Handel was making didn't really add up to anything, but Mendel was paying well for otherwise simple manufacturing and metalworking tasks. Oruga didn't know what they would be used for, even after Flay had drawn an illustration of one plate on a cocktail napkin.

Oruga had been deployed briefly with the _Dominion_ for a quick exercise and shakedown on ship modifications, which was nothing surprising to Flay. The news had been covering the modification of the _Dominion_ as the engines and sensor systems were upgraded, and how it was providing both jobs and security for the colony. Flay wasn't sure what she felt about it, but she intellectually knew any upgrades to the _Dominion_ were bad news for the Earth Alliance. Flay had asked about the _Archangel_ idly, wondering what happened to it after the last round of negotiations. Oruga had said he didn't know, but Flay could recognize the hint of a cover-job.

As she entered the bathroom to take her evening shower, Flay's mind centered on the personal side of the evening's conversation. In the days of her camp training for Blue Cosmos there had always been something or someone to pay attention to, fuel to prevent her mind turning in on itself. In the confines of an otherwise empty apartment, she could do naught but think. Even when she sought an absence of thought, she had no choice and no recourse but to think about things she didn't want to.

Stripping down to take her shower was as much an automatic task as it was for any other teen, a task which provided no refuge from her own doubts and angst. The problem was one she would never speak aloud, and a rather simple problem at that: she lived not just two lives, she ran five separate lives and keeping everything in motion without it colliding into a massive pileup was a strain like no other. All at the same time she served Blue Cosmos both faithfully and as an internal lie, she served Handel Manufacturing and by extension the Magi armed forces, she lived her own personal life without knowing what she really wanted, and she served as the heir to the Allster Financial and Manufacturing Conglomerate. Five lives, five directions, five problems. All this chaos in her life came before she even turned 17, an interesting position for someone who would be coming out of trade school in the Magi or Orb territories, and who would be a Junior in High School in Earth Alliance territory.

The core of Flay's doubts and worries came down to a simple fact: she knew she was not heartless. The problem with most assumptions about covert agents was that they were assumed to be able to screw anyone and walk away afterward, or worse, screw them one day and kill them the next. Though she had been conditioned to reduce her hesitation in killing and bring out her latent hatred for all things not BC, it didn't really take. She could say she was able to kill Coordinators all day, but if she had to take aim at Kira, she knew it would break her. Despite her initial intent, she gave her heart and her body to Kira in those nights on the _Archangel_, and doing something like that crippled her ability to hate.

She still said the words with gusto, planned and executed operations properly, but in the end she knew she was playing a game she really had no interest in. Being on the inside, however, meant the same thing as being on the inside of the Mafia: once you're in, you're in for life. Walking away would be close to impossible, she realized as she began scrubbing herself down thoroughly. As always, once she was thoroughly drenched she shut the water off temporarily; the high cost of water in Mendel was enough to force her into giving up her habit of long showers.

More scrubbing incurred more thoughts on the quandary she lived. Flay started out wanting vengeance for her deceased father; Kira was just as happy to blame himself for it as he was willing to try exacting that vengeance on the Coordinators. The catch was, somewhere between the destruction of the advance flotilla and the capture of pilot Dearka Elsman, her heart began to shift directions. She didn't realize that she wanted him until after she had been in the psychologically-abusive graces of Rau Le Creuset and his subordinate Yzak Joule. Seeing the hatred of Naturals mirrored in the latter's eyes, and what she assumed to be an omnicidal desire in Creuset, only served to make her realize the sheer monstrosity of what she had tried doing. Such a realization of a realization would have been good for a mirthless chuckle, though Flay restrained herself from such a venting. The neighbor next door in apartment 406 was incredibly nosy about things she did in the bathroom, especially since the feed pipes were linked and echoed sound very well.

She had been part of a prisoner exchange near the outskirts of Boaz, which was standard procedure at that time during the war, though Creuset had made sure to entrust her with a set of schematics for a device. Flay wasn't sure what schematics she had been given, but Admiral Sutherland had given her a commendation for capturing critical enemy design specifications. Internally, she knew she had been the great facilitator of the nuclear attack on Boaz and the attempted assault on the PLANTs. Were she truly the monster she pretended to be, she would have enjoyed that destruction immensely. It had gripped her heart like no other thing to see the destruction of Boaz and the first firing of GENESIS, but the assault from the Magi put 'paid' to the nuclear war before it got out of hand. That she did chuckle about, though it was more of a maniacal chuckle for the realization that she owed her life to the Magi that she was supposed to hate. If the Magi had not intervened, she would have been cooked with the second shot of GENESIS, the destruction of Ptolemaeus (where she had been stationed after she was returned to the Earth Alliance) was Patrick Zala's second target.

In her mind, she was Blue Cosmos. In her heart, she was something else, not pro-Coordinator nor anti-Coordinator. The last vestige of her mind's purpose drove over her heart's protests, though not before the conflict left her dropping suds from the body she once used as a weapon of seduction. For today, she would continue being Blue Cosmos, but she couldn't suppress the memories of the pilot she manipulated.

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

This is where things really begin to heat up for all the involved parties. This is not an untoward thing; the cake being baked is assuredly not a lie, though by the time it comes out of this oven will probably be burnt to a crisp. This is the nature of the recipe whence I am running the galley.

Speaking of cakes, the opening scene of the chapter will have quite a bit of significance in coming chapters, and by that I mean both the part with the baking crew and with Oruga. The latter you should have guessed, but the former probably didn't fit into any kind of cohesive picture. To whit, I say outstanding; there will be shock value in play, and I will leave you to guess as to what manner of shock value that is.

The Ghost Team marching north is showing a bit of a not-unexpected problem with long-term covert insertions: fraying nerves and wandering minds. They will not be descending into madness, rest assured, but the old Texas versus California argument is only the tip of the iceberg in this case. Expect some fun times when things really start unfolding for the Ghosts.

The other point of interest is Jeane, the recon cell leader for Blue Cosmos. She's found herself in a rather unexpected coup-de-main of intelligence games, ready access to the evolving aerofighter construction program in development by Mendel, as well as ready access to a pair of the newest designs: the Skygrasper II and the Thunderball. If she learns a good method by which to smuggle designs and specs out, she might score a significant advantage for Blue Cosmos.

The real interesting one of the chapter, mind you, is Flay. The internal conflict of her intentions is beginning to tear at her in more ways than one. The sheer angst of trying to love a Coordinator she can't have while killing the rest is eating her up slowly, and sooner or later she'll just have to outright choose which side to go with. Of course, this being a part of the MMC and JW lines, there is no such thing as an easy and painless choice. And, as mentioned in the last segment, there is no real easy way out of the position she has backed herself into. Expect the result to be bloody when she does try, but to what fashion I leave entirely to your imagination.

On my writing in general, things are picking up pace at the moment. I have a request to read and review a story from a FF6 author, apparently my time as a crossover writer for FF6 (as part of the Archangel's Amazing Adventures) raised a few eyebrows. Go figure. It will take time to read through his winding story, especially since reading first-person stories is disorienting to me, but hardly impossible. Until I catch up on that, expect a minor delay in net chapter throughput for this and my other stories.

On a personal aside, I find that the one thing I don't like about winter is the forced inactivity. I relish the approach of spring, and with it the opportunity to get outside and do some constructive things (woodworking, home repair, yard maintenance) and some destructive things (target practice, off-roading). At least I have a job to keep financing all of the above. Despite the heightened activity, I intend to maintain a schedule of writing and beta-reading, so I should be able to maintain pace.

The major detail I need to point out at this time is that after chapter 4 of Dilemma of Flay Allster, the beginning of Gundam SEED Destiny would happen. This being said, this is also where the second arc of eight (!) of the Jokers Wild begins. Expect it (and the revised Dilemma) to be a lot bloodier than the originals ever were. I do not play favorites in my writing, why should any expect the same?

That's it for this chapter. NEXT UP: Flay's heart continues to be torn by her indecision as the intelligence operations begin in earnest in the EA. A Blue Cosmos operation on planet reinforces the idea that the war has only cooled down slightly...

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Review Replies:

For a first start, the 6 reviews is an interesting corollary on the expectation for this story. I hope this chapter continues the traditions expected :)

**FraserMage**: The buildup is going to be a rather spiky chart, with each spike of event itself being a buildup to further nightmares in coming chapters. All the way to the blatant end of the second Bloody Valentine. Expect much to come.

**OneVillageIdiot**: You can rest assured that there will be more Archangel's Amazing Adventures, in fact I am working on the next chapter right now with 3K words to paper already.

The whole issue of Ghosts is a bit of a weird one, even for Magi. The Magi have gone head-to-head with the Zerg more than once, and even with the Terran Dominion itself, but the way they acquired Ghost technologies is millennia prior to those encounters. It is something you'll need to read to believe, once I write it up.

**MantaArms1989**: No foot in mouth involved in that question, comrade. There will be some upper-level similarities with my prior attempt, but the whole thing is going to play out even more bizarre than the last time. Trust me on this if nothing else, you're about to get a crash-course in the phrase 'no such thing as cheating in war'.

The character backgrounds are part dice, part derivation from my own thoughts and considerations. I commonly use the dicce to build a character's core stats, then flesh him/her out with the detail work.

**Necroblade**: Not so much weps detail this time around, but that will change in coming chapters.

I don't have a clue what the initial questions were, so let's assume you'll think of them soon enough and drop 'em again.

**Gatomon41**: Thanks for the review, been a while since I heard from you. Don't worry about the dice overmuch, they have been nerfed from repeating JW chap 12. That was so wildly beyond even my expectations that I should have seen the big red flag I had hoisted before I even dropped the chapter. That's also one of the reasons why I have a beta or two for my works now...

**RickRolled**: I guess I came to the Gundam fanfic scene not really liking or disliking Flay, but seeing some hidden potential in her when considering alternate histories. Reading all the hate for her in the fanfic community only pushed me more toward her position than away from her; just because KxL looks cute does not mean Flay has to burn in Hell to make it happen, in my opinion. It probably doesn't help that most people see Flay's manipulation of Kira and refuse to forgive her for that, even despite her actions toward the end of the series.

You can rest assured: Flay will earn her redemption in this one. In more ways than one.

THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS, ONE AND ALL! A review is proof positive that someone is paying attention, and that is a good thing. Keep those comments, gripes, and thoughts coming, more fuel makes for a hotter fire!

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The Gripe Sheet:

No gripes yet. That will change, eventually; it usually does.

Much thanks to **Necroblade** for editing my copy and keeping me from completely nuking the shark with faulty logic.

* * *

Footnotes:

(1): **Meganekko** is a common anime term for ladies with glasses. Usually used when someone aims for 'cute' with the focal point of it being the glasses or the eyes behind the glasses.

(2): **Avionics** are the various devices and controls used to actually fly a plane, as opposed to weapon system controls or similar.


	3. Signs Of The Future

(Joker's Wild Side Story: Dilemma of Flay Allster)

(Chapter 3: Signs Of The Future)

(6 June CE 72, 2045 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Industrial Block 5, Handel Manufacturing)

"Is this...it?" Flay gaped at the device they were looking at.

"This is," the shop foreman said. Flay reached out to it, but stopped herself just short. She looked to the foreman for permission. "You can touch it, it's safe," he said.

The Blue Cosmos spy touched the left hand assembly of the machine gingerly, still afraid of it within limits and still somewhat worried that she could damage it inadvertently, despite it being a combat unit. After a few moments, though, she realized it wasn't going to budge, and rapped on the forearm assembly of the unit. "Wait, this is hollow?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah, if you were inside, your hand would end about here," and the foreman rapped on the forearm about a hand's width up the forearm of the machine. "These arm assemblies are something wild. The hand is not an armored glove, it's a machine simulacrum of your hand that you control with a manipulator system in here. The forearm plates also have specialized tools for disassembling and disarming land mines, so having your hand behind armor is a good thing for these things."

"Wow," Flay squeaked, never having prior thought about how disarming land mines by hand would be a risky venture for one's hands.

The machine they beheld was massive by all normal personal gauges of the word, and it showed to the casual observer. In one way, it was more frightening to Flay than the standard Marine Armor System used by Mendel, but in other (intellectual) ways it was less frightening. A Marine with a shield could resist up to several beam rifle hits; these new units would not resist one beam rifle hit. A Marine carried multiple anti-armor and anti-infantry weapons; these lower-tech units carried a single modular anti-armor weapon and two modular infantry weapons, nothing more. Marines could swarm a Mobile Suit and attack it close with melee strikes and point-blank weapons fire; the new unit could not swarm even a tank, by its design limitations. Marine Armor was designed to go head-to-head with assault 'mechs or even Gundams and ensure the personnel survived intact; this new unit would not be capable of such a task.

Of course, it was still terrifying for the reasons it had been built, and Flay couldn't help but shudder as she placed the flat of her hand on its shoulder. On the back of the unit, in what would be a normal 'backpack' configuration, there were six canisters arranged three wide and two vertical, giving the machine the appearance of having some bigass missiles attached to its back. If Flay didn't know different she would have sworn they were indeed missiles, but the reality of the matter was somewhat more mundane to a civilian, and altogether more terrifying to military personnel. The canisters held the true key to the power of Mendel's new toy, for each canister contained an assortment of land mines designed to be field-deployed by the unit. The machine would jump up about 30 meters into the air, release up to 2 canisters at a time, and after they cleared the feet of the unit a special series of explosive charges would spread the contents of the canister over a wide swath of land.

The machine was designed to deploy minefields on demand, each individual machine could deploy a level-one multipurpose minefield three times over, and there were five machines to a single point. A unit of these beasts could literally turn an area 300 meters wide and 500 meters deep into a mine-infested wasteland that would be absolute hell on anything trying to move through that area, or if they were feeling real cruel, could do something on the order of 50 meters wide and 3000 meters deep, which would deny forces the use of a three-kilometer stretch of road and all its accompanying berms, ditches, and divider zones.

_And this is the face of Mendel's oath to fight to the last_, Flay reminded herself. It looked somewhat like the old Elemental armor systems of yore, probably because it was derived from the same manufacturing process, but where the Elemental was a do-all machine this one had only limited purposes: minelaying, mine-clearing, and suppression of enemy infantry and light AT teams.

"It's creepy, kinda," Flay admitted, considering a different facet of the project. "Why are they so obsessed with armor?"

"It's a cultural thing," the Foreman said, looking up and down the unit again for any visible signs of defects. "The Magi believe in the importance of individual soldiers and the necessity of survivability. Everyone fights in armor, in some fashion or another. Everyone fights together, as a coordinated but flexible whole. Everyone fights to win, 'cause if the Magi lose, their foes usually go out of the way to exterminate them."

"Nobody likes the Magi?" Flay asked, realizing that her own life wasn't far removed from the life of the Magi Empire.

"They have a few allies," the Foreman grunted. "Back in their lands, they get along with the number five empire in their pecking order, and have had the number six empire as life-long allies, but the other three of the Big Six would just as soon knife them in their collective backs as they would do business. Same thing applies here: Mendel gets along with ZAFT, the USSA, and are on very good terms with Orb, but Equatorial and Scandinavia are claiming indifference and the Earth Alliance wants our asses on pikes. Oh, how pride goeth before the fall," the foreman waxed philosophic, which struck a nerve in Flay's heart just as quickly as she realized what he was referring to. The number two Empire from the Magi's lands, the Negaverse, had tried the same thing the Earth Alliance wanted to do. It had not worked.

_Not that different from myself, my life_, Flay thought to herself. Things had been relatively decent for her in school, but she always knew people regarded her with envy and hatred for her position. A few close friends, a few acquaintances, and indifference from the rest of the school made her wonder if she was doing something wrong. Her time on the _Archangel_ had proved her suspicions right, as though few showed open hostility it was obvious enough that nobody really liked her, even Kira. She had truly understood what manner of pariah she was in the days after Kira had been declared MIA, when even those she figured she was closest to had turned a cold shoulder to her need for comfort. ZAFT was inhospitable to her for obvious reasons; Blue Cosmos was not really cold so much as it was determined to make her into a coordinator killing machine – something she wasn't ready to be in her own right.

She knew she was a friend to nobody, liked by few and loved by none, leaving an empty place in her heart like no other. A pariah among her peer group, living in and attempting to sabotage an empire of pariahs, Flay found herself raging against a machine without due cause and left wondering why she was even trying. Now, standing before the inhumanly cold and methodical Sapper Battle Armor her company was now assembling at breakneck pace, she wondered where she had gone wrong and what was the price of redemption in these sorts of games.

The armor gave no answer, it simply stared back at the lady that was touching its left forearm.

-x-x-x-

(11 June CE 72, 2045 Hours)  
(National Logistics, Inc., Hedemora, Sweden)

"And this is where things get interesting," the company COO (Chief Operations Officer) said. "The Sahaku family has signed into contract the use of Ame-no-Mihashira as a cargo transfer point for material going between the planet and the L4 or L5 colony groups, and eventually that will include L3 when Heliopolis comes back online."

"That's good news," the CEO of the company said.

"This proposal also presents a bit of an interesting problem," the COO continued, building on his prior phrasing while waving the draft plan at the CEO and its writer (The CFO). "The _Kamui_-class Dropships we're buying from LNC Engineering aren't really set up for the heavy haul commerce routes. Sure, you can drive one ship from here to the Zenith Jump Point and back on just over half a tank of fuel, but three thousand tons of transport is miniscule compared to the logistic demand we need to haul."

"So you're saying they're good for light-haul work, but not for anything larger?"

"As long as it weighs less than 3000 tons, you can haul it with a _Kamui_. Anything more, we need to look into other products," the COO answered the Director of Fleet Services.

"We can purchase more surplus _Marseille III_-class ships from the Atlantic Federation," the CFO posited as a solution.

"Nix that plan, sir," the CIO (Corporate Intelligence Officer) answered. "Earth Alliance is buying back their _Marseilles_ to convert them into fleet oilers and troop transports, as well as building the newer _Cornelius_-class ships. And, all things considered, I think even the _Cornelius_-class is about to get demoted to bush-league in the next month or so."

"Mendel going to design a new transport ship or something?" the CFO said in a joking matter. It was widely known he had no love for Mendel, mainly because their actions had resulted in the death of his brother in law, one of his sons, and two of his old drinking buddies.

"Already have designed it," the CIO replied evenly. He had no animus against Mendel, nor did he favor them in any fashion. "Their new ships are called _Garm_-class, and hold the classification of Corvette in Mendel naval parlance. At full gross load, each ship will mass around 249,950 tons, just shy of the 250 thousand ton mark. The stripped-down version has a cargo total of 180,201 tons transport capacity without putting undue stress on the engines."

"Serious? A hundred eighty thousand tons?" The President of the company asked.

"That's more than double the _Cornelius_-class transport capability. How can they do that?"

"A lot less engine mass, though uses the higher-efficiency interplanetary engines the Magi love. It's not fast compared to their actual warships, but it doesn't need to be for cargo-hauling purpose." the CIO enjoyed the analysis of the task, and this was the fruits of that labor writ into a spirited policy and equipment argument. "It'll outrun ZAFT or EA ships in a marathon setting, but probably not in the early part of a sprint."

"We wouldn't really do anything more than just run it at 1G acceleration, regardless," the COO said. "Anything more than that shortens time, but increases fuel usage exponentially."

"This is perfect," the CEO said, looking over the bare-bones tech specs of the new ship class. "We could use this to corner the transport market from the asteroid belt to Earth."

"Crew requirements are high, though," the CFO said, applying an eye of analysis to the document despite his typical bias on things related to Mendel. "Can we front a crew like that?"

"If we're generating a revenue route every other week, easily," the CIO said. "Assuming we take two weeks to do a full round trip, including load and unload, we can assume a revenue of roughly sixty percent of the load per trip. At going rates, assuming we're hauling iron only, that should amount to around 20 million earth-dollars per load. The revenue would go up significantly if we were hauling something more exotic, such as tungsten ore, uranium ore, or one of the 'exotic' metals the Magi have access to but we on Earth do not."

"Price per ship is about 200 million C-bills, which is roughly 1 billion Earth-Dollars. What do they offer for credit?"

"Mendel will finance the purchase of ship at 2 percent interest, provided we can cough up a crew and have a clear idea what we intend on doing with the ship. They don't like fishing expeditions," the CIO answered the CFO adroitly.

"Coverage?" the CFO asked immediately thereafter. He didn't like gambling on anything without a way out if it turned sour.

"Mendel will reclaim the ship if we default on the loan, with no impingement on our credit standing with them, should unforeseen circumstances kill our ability to pay. Corporate stupidity is not included in that coverage; if we bullocks this, we lose the ships and we toast our ability to do business with the new superpower on the block." The Chief Operations Officer could easily get away with saying such among this crowd; the prior group of Directors had effectively annihilated the corporation by suborning themselves to the Earth Alliance, and when Mendel chewed up their shipping assets the company went bankrupt on pure material losses. Several months of restructuring later, new command staff included, they now stood on the precipice of taking over a goodly chunk of the space material transport market.

"Risks?" the President asked.

"Extremely low on the Asteroid Mining side," the CEO said, having done risk analysis already. "Blue Cosmos lacks the reach to hit assets running that far away from the Earth Sphere. Pirates are possible, but Mendel already is planning on running one of their Missile Frigates out and about to prevent piracy. And if those Missile Frigates can play absolute hell with ZAFT regulars, my money definitely is not on the pirates."

"That is putting it mildly," the CIO commented.

"From Mendel to Orb Station, or from ZAFT to Orb Station, the risk is low. BC may be able to sneak some contaminated material into Ame-No-Mihashira, but the likelihood that screening procedures would not trap it is practically zero. And you can guess that the destinations would not be sending dirty material planetside, so..."

"Just on those two alone, we have good options," the CFO finally and grudgingly admitted. "Mihashira to the rebuild project for Heliopolis?"

"Also a possible, but the risk is greater," the CIO said. "The Earth Alliance is still very sore about the beating they took at the hands of Mendel, and they clearly know the new guys were aided by Orb. Things could get messy for our personnel if they decided to board ships and confiscate material."

"And lastly, we have low-end courier options for the _Kamui_-class ships we are planning to have built," the CEO reminded them. "The _Kamui_ can dock with the _Garm_-class ships to transfer material and supplies, and conversely the _Garm_ can use the _Kamui_ to reach to the planet's surface for deliveries."

"I see we have good options right now," the President of the corporation closed the discussion. "I am thinking we take out options on two _Garm_-class ships and ten _Kamui_-class ships as an opening position. Any objections?" There were none, even from the CFO. "Make it happen, people. Time is ticking, and if we want in on the asteroid mining projects, we don't have time to play with."

-x-x-x-

(19 June CE 72, 1010 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony SDIZ, Warship _Dominion_)

Flay, being a guest of one of the pilots on the ship for its latest shakedown and Trials, had been seen to a lounge for guests to watch the evolving battle. She was not alone, a good assembly of dock workers and off-duty military personnel were also watching the evolving skirmish, lending at least someone to talk to.

The lounge of the _Dominion_ was wildly different from the equivalent lounge on the _Archangel_, she remembered from her time on that ship. It was physically the same lounge that was present on the _Archangel_, with the same bank of windows looking out into the stars and the galaxy surrounding Earth, but that was where the similarities ended. The Magi had modified the lounge to include multiple viewscreens hanging from the ceiling, usually showing ship's indicators and standing orders, but now all were tuned to the battle and even showed force-on-force information for the evolving engagement.

Flay was completely overwhelmed at the sheer level of information that the Magi operated on, and operated on in such a fashion that even the lowest of seamen or soldiers had access to an understanding of not just their surroundings, but the whole battlescape to which they were engaged. One of the monitors even showed an overview map of the entire Mendel area, and the theoretical engagement profiles for each unit patrolling around the colony that could or would be involved in such a battle.

It was a clear showing of the new detente between nations that ZAFT and Orb were working together at anything. It was even more telling that ZAFT and Orb were playing hyper-competent aggressors against Mendel's forces deployed from the ship, on the assumed scenario of an 'alpha strike', a massive assault-in-force designed to steamroll defenses and punch through to their logical target. There wasn't much in the way of operational concern between the two aggressor-simulation parties; a lot of the mechanics thought that ZAFT would be spiky about working with otherwise 'inferior' troops, but if any of that was present it wasn't showing. ZAFT and Orb were both maneuvering and coordinating like they were part of the same force, and the Mendel units were sweating it.

On the other hand, the relentless training and sharp doctrine of the Magi showed just as readily as the cooperation of the OpFor (Opposing Force). Oruga had told her that the active forces ran a training sortie twice a week minimum, and every force was 'on the box' (in a training simulator) at least twice a week, sometimes as many as four times a week if a commander did not like the results of the last week's training exercises. He claimed it was tough as hell, tougher than Extended training by a significant margin, but it was that toughness and sharpness that had won through against numerically superior forces. Flay had little problem believing the training was what gave them the edge in past battles, past wars, but she questioned how long it would be helpful against a determined and numerically-superior foe.

"C'mon, c'mon, do somethin' about it!" the nearby engine mechanic shouted. "Goddamnit!" he shouted as a ZAFT GuAIZ unit broke contact from the X370 machine, rendering it 'safe' while other GuAIZ took up the engagement of the Raider.

"Is this...how frenetic it normally is?" a rather young dockworker asked.

"Yeah, this is typical in a 4-on-1 engagement match," one of the off-duty gunnery officers noted. "The enemy wants to divide and conquer, but the machines we have are remaining close together to provide support. It's real good for these here," and he took control of one of the monitors to zoom in on part of the battlefield. The main 'allied' machines in the area were the X151F, Oruga's machine, and the GP02-HW-LC, Century Commander Lightbringer's machine. "The old military saw is 'one soldier is effective, two soldiers are five times as effective'. Same thing applies with Mobile Forces, but the enemy takes advantage of this just as much. These two are hangin' on pretty hard, but they are facing off against six enemies...make that five enemies," he corrected himself after Oruga scratched a M1A Astray unit.

"Who will win?" Flay asked from behind the gunnery officer, looking at the screen herself.

"By the numbers, or by net casualties?" the Officer asked in response.

"Either," Flay said, not interested in nitpicking over the details. She would understand her folly with his answer:

"By net casualties, ZAFT will win, within a certain definition of victory. Can you call them a combat-effective force after this? Not likely," the gunnery officer answered.

"What do you mean?" the dockworker asked, sparing Flay the necessity of asking the question.

"There's a myth in Existence that states soldiers always fight to the last. It's a happy myth, one about going down in a blaze of glory or blaze of infamy, and even we Magi sometimes believe it. The reality is far different: soldiers do not fight to the last; they do their damndest to make sure they get out alive when the shooting is over. Call it healthy survival instinct, practicality, cowardice, or just shell-shock, take your pick. Anyway, ZAFT will win this engagement, but the amount of losses they will take should render their formation useless for further combat."

"And our guys?" the dockworker asked.

"Well, suffice it to say that myth actually does have roots in fact. The Spartans at Thermopylae are easily the most famous, the Japanese on Saipan are a good example, but the Magi have a history for dying real hard. You just saw a case of that a few days before Christmas last, on the Gigafloat. Oh, they have us outnumbered, but they'll take too many losses fighting us in this fashion." As he said so, two more markers for the enemy opfor went offline, but one Mendel marker also went yellow to show damaged but still in battle. "In a final defensive fire scenario, like this one, the Magi always get tougher and tougher to kill by the minute."

"How could they have won?" Flay asked.

"Depends on the overview scenario, but attacking a unit of Elite Gundams is not the best use of personnel in most situations. Depending on the OpFor objective, it may have been wiser just to bypass the defensive forces and blitz the objective. I know, it sounds suicidal and in common practice it is, but sometimes you have to pick and choose what manner of loss you need to take to complete your objectives."

"Wow...that's cruel," Flay said. She stammered on the thought that Kira's last mission for the _Archangel_ before he went MIA would have been such an order: it was the same battle as usual, but it turned out far different from the prior engagements.

And the implication from the Gunnery Officer was simple: this was the same battle as usual for the Magi. Outnumbered, outgunned, never outclassed, the Magi would eventually lose but would render this formation of enemy machines unusable for at least a short while, and kill off a goodly number of the enemy in the process. In tactical terms it counted as a loss, but done long enough and hard enough, and with enough repeats, it could silence a foe just on pure numbers of attrition.

"It is really all a game of numbers?" the dockworker asked after a few more icons winked out on the screen – including Oruga's icon.

"Yes and no," a passing Marine said before he took another slug of his beer. "Yes, you can put numbers to anything on the battlefield, and somewhere, somehow, some officer has to use those numbers to determine what to do. No, this is not a game or a set of numbers, this is bloodless battle in preparation for the real deal, and each icon you see represents a life on the line." The allied icons came down to three: the Forbidden Gundam, piloted by Shani Andras, a customized Gundam Double-X piloted by a Magi Special Operations Officer (Alicia Yamato), and the Century Commander in his Physalis Heavy Weapons Custom. All three machines showed damage indicators, making them less effective than 'fresh' units, but in the long run Flay felt the battle would come to conclusion shortly. The enemy count was 21 remaining units, not counting two administratively crippled units that were returning to the _Kusanagi_ and _Voltaire_.

"This will be the final dance, here," the Gunnery Officer said. "Watch, and see their fate."

Flay ticked off the units in her head faster than the counters did. The final rush was just that, the final throes of both sides. Four more OpFor went down, followed by Alicia's Double X. Five more felled between Gerald and Shani, then the Forbidden bit it from a beam saber blitz. Four more again, caught too close to the Physalis HW, then the enemy crippled and finally destroyed the Century Commander with beam rifle fire. Only eight remained of the entire enemy opposing force that began as nearly forty machines, losses that stunned Flay in sheer volume.

She realized she had just watched a scenario where not only her boyfriend had been killed, but the colony was now vulnerable to direct attack from the line breach, and by extension so was she. The nightmare of it was more than ample to grip Flay's heart with terror.

She did not want to feel as if she had lost another person she was becoming attached to.

-x-x-x-

(21 June CE 72, 2310 Hours)  
(Earth Alliance, Atlantic Federation Old United States territory, State of Missouri)

"This is a good site," Ghost Officer Hawk Longfeather said quietly. Topside, the site was concealed by a massive stand of trees, with the nearest access road over 300 meters north of their new underground bunker (and that road practically unused on a normal day). The likelihood that anyone would find them in such thick plant growth was close to zero, all the more so that the Atlantic Federation had banned civilian ownership of firearms, which rendered hunting a rare sport.

"Hannibal," Amina chuckled. "Americans and their town names. Who would want to name a town after that monster?" She was referring to Hannibal Lecter, not Hannibal of Carthage as the town was properly named for.

"Americans. Need I say more?" Thomas said adroitly.

"All right, everyone, topside is secured. You can break out and prepare to take a three-day vacation-in-place. CC Lightbringer has given us an official 'attaboy' for getting this far completely undetected."

"Doing so without choking each other to death is also a plus," Thomas replied evenly to the Star Commander's order to stand down and get out of armor.

"It will be easier on the way out, the other Ghost teams are building more waypoint bunkers as they come along," Amina said before her armor shut down.

Thomas was the first out of his armor, and by extension was the first headed to the new shower system in the bunker. Amina and Hawk followed quickly, leaving the Star Commander to the last of the shower stalls they would occupy. The shower and robing room for this centralized bunker facility had ten showers and basic lockers for fifty personnel, with options to upgrade if necessary. Bunks and crew quarters were the same, up to fifty personnel in common practice, though each of Megan's Ghosts would have individual quarters since this was a 'permanent' duty station.

This would be the home site of up to ten stars of Ghosts (fifty total), and already three full stars of Ghosts were on the way up from the USSA to begin operations in the Atlantic Federation. Megan's orders were to prepare sites and services for the oncoming personnel, to facilitate a long-term espionage operation against Blue Cosmos and their official 'protection' services in the Atlantic Federation. This meant that a facility was needed, repair sections for Ghost Armor would need to be available, and mostly a mess hall and R&R would need to be available. These last two were still being produced by the nanomachine systems even as the four Ghosts cleaned up from their long hike north, but the facility would be ready and waiting for new tenants long before the next Star of Ghosts showed up.

Megan reveled in the shower for the thorough cleaning it was giving her, but more to the point she reveled in the fact that she was doing what she loved, even if not with her husband and wife with her. Existence was itself an imperfect model, she considered, and simply reminded herself that while her first husband and wife had been forcefully yanked from her by a drunkard she still had plenty of time in her life for such pursuits. Of course, since Blue Cosmos wanted to cut her life short, she had to start by suborning or annihilating them first, whichever was finally decided upon by the commanders.

Outside the shower, Megan dressed herself for comfort – insofar as possible when in hostile territory – and reviewed the construction progress on the facility monitor system. The base existed a hundred meters below ground level, mined into bedrock and secured by a series of heavy blast doors between the surface and the base. The base itself was assembled in two and a half floors – the armor facilities existed at one level, the crew facilities existed to the north of the armor facility slightly above and slightly below the depth of the armor section.

"Who flinches first?" Amina asked after Megan had been staring at the monitor for several minutes.

"Them," Megan answered immediately. "Our discipline is supreme; their hatred is supreme. The give is almost entirely in their favor, and they are already giving in to pressure of their own hatred."

"Kill 'em all, or try to suborn?" Amina continued her line of questioning after a few moments of silence.

"Kill all," Hawk said as he moved toward the armor bay, intent to have his armor cleaned and ready before he began his vacation-in-place. He did not remain for the conversation, as was common for him.

"Yeah, for now that is what it will amount to," Megan agreed with her subordinate. "I mean, it's a fuckload of bodies at the end of the day, but Mendel doesn't have the strength to take and hold land in any major quantity. We'd be doing the world an incredible disservice to even try just suborning the infected lands, not to mention ourselves and our ward."

"And denying land, personnel, resources to an enemy is technically easier than simply taking those for your own use," Amina recited the common line about destroying versus capturing that was trained into each Magi soldier. "It will get bloody."

"It already is bloody," Megan said with clear reverence to voice. "Several hundred thousand civilians dead in Junius Seven. Several million civilians dead in second-order cause from ZAFT's Neutron Jammer attack on the planet. Orb is still rebuilding, The Earth Alliance suffers a resource crisis, the USSA was veritably wiped out as a superpower and is only now regrowing severed limbs, and Mendel loses strength by the day."

"Only a matter of time, and we're back at full-scale war. We can deny them space, but can we deny them attacks against us?"

"I think the bosses have some form of idea," Megan replied evenly.

"How do I use this thing to build myself a squeak toy?" Amina asked as she tried to edge around the Star Commander to look at the control console.

"I knew that would come up," Thomas said.

"Bad choice of words, Ghost Officer," Megan replied with a raised eyebrow. Even still, she added such a device to the queue and bumped its priority up a bit. A Java machine could wait, since nobody in the unit drank anything more powerful than plain coffee.

-x-x-x-

(28 June CE 72, 1700 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

"This is where it gets interesting," Flay said to the slightly mesmerized Oruga. "Calling this recipe 'homemade hamburger helper' is two lies and a truth for the price of one," she said as she scraped half an onion, chopped, into the pan with the sizzling ground meat.

"Huh?" Oruga asked. "How do you figure?" He understood the retooling of the old joke she was using, whereby military personnel throughout Existence called a Meal Ready to Eat (MRE) to be three lies for the price of one. They weren't exactly meals, they weren't ready, and most wise soldiers questioned how edible they were.

"Well, it is homemade, which is your one grain of truth," she said as she began chopping up the green pepper she favored for her recipe. "The first lie is the hamburger. My dad used beef, but since beef is in short supply this month, I'm using ground turkey."

"Egh, didn't know that," Oruga said. "Well—oh, yeah, any beef we've been eating on the _Dominion_ would be freezer material. Duh."

"The other lie is the 'helper' part," Flay continued as her knife continued chopping into green pepper without reserve. "The original Hamburger Helper was a prep-a-box meal, where they gave you all the goods except the pasta. GFS here in Mendel sells them, but they are so nasty with salt they could kill a grown man on pure sodium intake. So I make my own, and there really isn't anything to it."

"I didn't know you could cook," Oruga said pensively. "I thought you were a restaurant type."

"One meal a day, minimum," Flay answered. "Helps cut down on meal expenses, and leftovers make a great quick-and-ready lunch at work." She took a moment to scrape the half a bell pepper into the simmering meat. "This recipe, in standard proportion, will give me about four meals. Five if I stretch it."

"Smells good already," Oruga said before he stretched and leaned back in the chair he was sitting on. "May have to steal this recipe and give it to the cooks on the _Dominion_."

"Feh," Flay snorted. "Nothing secret or special about it. Boil pasta, drain, melt cheese sauce in personal preference," hers being 'American' and mild cheddar in a 3:1 ratio, "brown meat with optional vegetables. Combine, mix, serve. End of story."

"How hard is it to get good foods?" Oruga asked after a minute of watching Flay slice a mushroom.

"Prices are inflated," Flay admitted. "Part of it is basic supply and demand, part of it is profiteering on the importers' part. At least Blue Cosmos hasn't arrived at the bright idea of contaminating food supplies or attacking food transports, yet," she said.

"Wouldn't put it past those bastards," the Gundam pilot groused.

"They'll probably try, eventually," Flay mused. "Hope the Star Admiral has an emergency plan."

"He does, I've helped load MREs in my spare time. Thousands of tons of MREs, ready and waiting in secure locations," Oruga said. Flay remembered that thought, though since he hadn't told where he loaded them, it was a guessing game as to how or where they were stored. _Probably in a cargo bay in the Mjolnr_, she thought with a soured mental tone.

Flay finished the mushrooms and added them to the cooking meat. With that accomplished, she began on the cheese sauce; she preferred to do in the microwave (less chance of scorching the sauce). She started by way of chopping the mild cheddar into easily-melted cubes, though she had the luxury of being able to watch Oruga while she was preparing dinner. A few minutes of watching him stare out the window into the distance was enough to tell her a story of interesting character. Oruga had acquitted himself better than expected in the last shoot-ex he had been in, but the story was always the same: in all real terms, the Mendel Armed Forces were truly outnumbered and outgunned, but never outclassed. Flay could see it in his face, the worry of battles yet to come, inevitably to come, and how he would acquit himself when the beams weren't at training strength.

And she realized that worry also hurt her as well. After all, if Blue Cosmos simply decided to outright nuke the colony instead of more surgical procedures, she would be in the firing line just the same as Oruga. A few moments of grilling on that realization caused her to drop her carving knife, a noisy and distinctive racket, which drew Oruga's attention readily. "Something wrong?"

"Ran a chain of thought, and I didn't like how it ended," Flay admitted. "Blue Cosmos," she continued quietly.

Oruga snorted and grunted at once, apparently in reply to her. "The big one we worry about is an alpha strike with nuclear weapons. We can stiff 'em in any fashion except a deliberate all-out nuclear missile strike, and about two times in three we win a nuke blitz with the difficulty cranked up past eleven."

"So I'm safe?" Flay asked as she cleaned the knife she dropped.

"I think so," Oruga said. "If they fart in our direction, we have advance warning and full radar coverage. And a lot of good pilots to deal with 'em as they come."

"And you?" Flay asked.

"I"m in it until the threat is gone. Probably take a decade or so, but I'm young 'n' crazy...and one of the best at what I do. Might as well put that skill to use."

"Then..." Flay prompted him.

"I'm thinking probably something mundane, at most piloting a Dropship, likely just a Mobile Suit trainer or even a worker MS pilot. Don't need anything special, I'm not an adrenaline addict like my teammate Clotho."

Flay wouldn't admit it, even to herself, but hearing that from Oruga was reassuring to her at a level she found untouched since her dealings with Kira. She didn't drop the knife this time, nor did she drop the pot of pasta, but she did hesitate as she strained the pasta from the boiling water.

-x-x-x-

(29 June CE 72, 1900 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 3, Apartment Building 2R3, Suite 1122)

"Two pair, suckers," Deacon (Deke) Wills dropped his cards on the kitchen table, with a pair of eights and a pair of tens glaring at the other players.

"How the bloody hell did he get so lucky at cards?" Ronald "Bear" Carson asked.

"No shit, I ain't been spanked this bad, ever," Cassandra Regal replied. "And I get spanked a lot."

"With that booty, I can see why. Sorry for adding to the hand prints," Deke said to the one lady at the table, making it not too obvious that he was eyeing her rear around the side of the table.

"I'm gonna need more beer before you're gettin' in my pants, Deke. Pony up or give up," Cassandra ordered of the errant second-in-command.

"You know how much this stuff costs? And this ain't even the good stuff, girl," Deke waved an empty can at her.

"Puts a premium on my pants now, doesn't it?" she asked after a moment of evil grin aimed at the younger but technically higher-ranking Deke.

"Would be nice to get back planetside, buy a beer without breaking the damn budget," 'Bear' admitted candidly.

"Well, that's why I called you all here today," Rico, their cell commander, crushed an empty beer can in hand. "That trumped-up radio wench is dragging her feet. We ain't got shit for orders since we arrived, and I'm getting fed up mopping halls. We need to do something about these pukes and get out of here."

"What you planning?" Cassandra asked while shuffling the cards for their next hand.

"I'm thinking we hit the main fusion reactor at the GARM facility, blow it up and vent its burning heart into the colony proper, create some real fireworks," the cell commander said, showing his ignorance of fusion reactor principles. Fusion reactors would not explode, and certainly would not explode like a fusion bomb (thermonuclear bomb).

"Works for me," Cassandra answered, now finished shuffling. She began dealing hands to everyone, convinced that Deke's luck had to turn...

"Watch out for the moor with the beers," Rico cautioned the other players as he picked up his cards and fanned them. "Our game mat is the reactor facility map. I figure we have a maximum of thirty seconds on-site before the Marines from GARM are all over us like stink on shit."

'Bear' Carson looked past his dwindling pile of chips to the roughed-out map of the facility. "You're right, the geography of the facility and area favor the defenders highly. No guards at the reactor itself?"

"No, they have it labeled as a secondary generator facility and so there are no real guards. A tech visits the room every couple of hours and that's about it. We can sneak in between the tech runs, blow into the shack, attach a significant charge to the reactor housing, and we're gone. We time it just right so we get on a shuttle out of here less than an hour after the fireworks, and Mendel is left picking up the pieces."

"Sounds solid, and since we're doing this plausibly deniable and with clean explosives, they ain't going to get us on the way out," Deke said with a hint of arrogance to his tone. His mention of 'clean explosives' referred to a compound called Montana Brick, named for the old US territory it was manufactured in. The Montana Brick explosives were a combination of Octol (a very high power blasting filler) combined with a plasticizer and cellulose to help prevent contact traces. It was also packaged specially to prevent it being sniffed out or detected by contact, and Montana Brick was distributed in shapes of common travel objects (shaving cream cans being a favorite) to prevent x-ray systems from readily twigging to their presence.

"We have ten pounds of Montana Brick among the unit members. Call it half a pound to cut into the building, a secondary breaching charge in case they have more doors inside, and nine pounds to rupture the reactor. Give it a twenty-second fuse and run like mad."

"Wait, is twenty seconds going to be enough?" Cassandra asked, rightfully afraid of the possibility of a reactor blast.

"It should be," Rico replied confidently. "Any more than twenty, a responding Armored Marine could simply yank the bomb off the side of the reactor and chuck it out the door. We'd fail to do any damage if that happened."

"He's right, that would suck," 'Bear' replied. "We going to play this hand, or stare at our cards all night?"

"I say play it," Deke said. He had dropped in a significant amount of chips while everyone else was focusing on blowing up a reactor decoy.

"Call?" Rico asked the other three at the table.

"Queen high," 'Bear' groused.

"Two pair again, suckers," Deke revealed a pair of sevens and a pair of fives.

"I got nothing, you lucky bastard," Rico threw his cards down and across the kitchen table, where they skidded to a halt at the chips pile.

"Strange, I have two pair as well," Cassandra said quietly. "Two jacks," and she dropped her first pair on the table; "two jacks," she dropped the second pair on the table. "Luck doesn't last forever, but there are several definitions of 'luck' in play here."

"Damn, nothing like getting wiped out in one play," Deke said with a sigh.

"Stop your bellyaching, grab a thousand in chips and pass me two beers," Cassandra said.

"Keep losing like that, Deke, and you may end up in her pants by default," Rico directed a not-so-whisper to the unit second.

"Oh, maybe," Cassandra said. "At least I'm not like Felena the Invisible. She sleeps with someone the night before an op as a matter of tradition." Which fact was the _least_ unsettling thing the unit had learned about their new teammate since they started working together back in '68. Felena the Invisible earned her name for being androgynous enough (and flat enough in the chest department) to pass for a man with a minor disguise. She had used it to bluff her way into more than one tightly-held Coordinator area and plant explosive charges, a feat of no small stature. Her perversion was just as legendary as her stealth skills, with rumors as salacious as claiming outright necrophilia on some men she had shot or stabbed, though she showed no such outward signs of psychosis.

"Wonder who gets that dubious honor," Deke wondered aloud.

"The way you're trying to get into Cassandra's pants, I would think you'd be all over that," 'Bear' said with a clear hint of humor.

"I like my ladies with some goods," Deke countered a bit sharply. "Felena could fit into a shipping crate made for her height, width, and depth, not squish anything and not have an air gap around her except for her legs and head."

It was with that laugh that attention turned back to the cards. They had no clue that they lived within easy 'earshot' of a conscientious immigrant psionic, who would report it to her father, who would report it to Mendel. Within ten hours, the apartment would be bugged beyond all compare, all traffic would be monitored, and rotating surveillance would be on their persons.

-x-x-x-

(2 July CE 72, 2000 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

The device she connected to her laptop land-line connection was indeed a laptop, but one so heavily encrypted that Mendel theoretically had no option to break it, since they (theoretically, and as it happens incorrectly guessed) had no quantum supercomputers not in use on an _Archangel_-class ship. The encryption system brought her laptop down to its knees, but at least it protected her system from hack and intercept attempts, two things the Earth Alliance was deathly afraid of.

"Operations center," the operator on the other end of the line reported once the signal lashed up properly.

"Mendel One with priority traffic for Formation Commander Bodkins," Flay said immediately.

"Roger that," the operator said with a clear hint of surprise to voice. Mendel was the most autonomous operation that Blue Cosmos ran, and any contact from personnel in Mendel was to be fast-tracked to needed personnel immediately.

It took a matter of twenty seconds, and when the Formation Commander appeared on the screen, it was with a running shower in the background, complete with the silhouette of a lady inside the shower still, and a modesty towel around his waist. "Bodkins. You're Flay Allster, right?"

"Yes, sir," she replied evenly.

"Don't think we've met before, but I knew your father. Damn good man, helluva crappy way to go. What can I do for you?"

"I have an operations problem up here, a big one. There are three direct-control cells in Mendel under my command, two Ops and one Intel."

"Yeah, we're trying to get more volunteers for ops up in Mendel, but we don't have enough decent personnel to send your way yet," Bodkins admitted.

"Well, I have confirmed contact with one of the Ops cells and the Intel cell, but the second Ops cell is refusing contact. I've done everything short of drive over to Rico's apartment and kick the door down, he will not acknowledge a flag."

"Rico?" Bodkins asked for clarification. Flay could see the color in his face rising, a sure sign that something was about to go wrong.

"Yes, sir," Flay confirmed.

"Mother-fucking degenerate asshole dick-sucking pube crab!" Flay blanched at his instant tirade of profanity. "Damn it all to Hell, I told Djibril that fucktard was the wrong cell commander to send to Mendel. He's going to try something stupid and get his team killed, including one of our legendary infiltrators. Son of a bitch!" He looked away from the screen, then back to Flay. "Sorry about that. I used to be Navy."

"My latest intel dig is Navy Mobile Forces," Flay admitted. "I've heard that one before, almost word for word."

"Navies all over Existence really do think alike," he mused. "Pity we have to kill 'em, though. I could sit down for a beer and stories with someone like that, if I wasn't obligated to wipe 'em out." He shrugged. "Anyway, when did he break contact?"

"Sometime between last Thursday and yesterday," Flay said. "I had visual on two of his cell group still out and about, so they do not appear to have been captured."

"If he's going by his usual track record, he's no more than three days off from committing a colossal fuckup," Bodkins said with dejection.

"Three days, sir? I can get to him and warn him off in less than an hour."

"No!" He half-shouted. "No, no, I forbid it," the Formation Commander said more calmly. "You are far more valuable than that butt-sneeze Rico and his little cult of personality. Officially, you will continue to flag 'em and if he responds, order him off the colony under Djibril's authority. Direct orders, I will have them written up and signed off by Lord Djibril within the hour, if he questions. Unofficially, fuck 'em. You are not to stick your neck out for him or his unit in any fashion; you have your own ass to protect, and quite frankly yours is far more valuable and reasonable than his. If he gets himself killed off, you will disavow any knowledge, contact, or attempted contact with him. Follow?"

"Yes, sir, I understand clearly," Flay responded, then sighed internally. She was off the hook if he killed himself, and she liked the WAFF (1) that having a completely covered ass generated for her.

"Get some rest, kid, and don't worry about dipshit. If he's not listening, there isn't a damn thing you can do about it except wait for the film at eleven."

"But, that's six good men under him, as well," Flay groused, then jolted internally at the instant discord her comment caused in her heart. Her mind said they were good men, but her heart thought otherwise...

"Only one of them is really worth the trouble, girl," Bodkins admitted. "Felena the Invisible might be worth it to extract if you can get to her before she commits group suicide with the rest. The others are a little cult of personality Rico has built around himself, not worth the trouble. If they disappear, better them than you."

"I'll see if I can track down Felena, quietly," Flay said. She had enough information to begin a search without alerting the Marines, which was enough to really begin her work. That is, if they weren't already out on the abortive operation.

After all, the search could wait until tomorrow, after work in all preference. Her orders were not to stick her neck out for them, so she wasn't going to. The cruelty of such actions and decisions did not escape Flay, yet neither did the necessity of such decisions fly from her grasp. _It is impossible to be of use to anyone if you were dead_, she reminded herself.

-x-x-x-

(3 July CE 72, 0800 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, GARM R&D Facility)

"I got it, I got it," Marine Sniper Specialist (Point Commander) Elena groused. "This is going to be a cake walk."

"We'll be ready to cover your ass if anything goes wrong," Marine Heavy Weapons Specialist Cho said soothingly. She technically wasn't part of Elena's point, but they did work together closely because of their actions in Jachin Due.

"So, when they breach, I just spray 'em down and we pick up the pieces, right?" Elena confirmed her orders.

"Nothing hugely complicated about it. Just don't use your ASR unless needed, the stopping point for such an attack is the far side of the colony," the Strategic Officer told her over the radio.

"Here I go," Elena said with a wary tone. She lifted a hatch in the floor of the basement and looked down to the access tunnel below it. With a small sigh, she dropped down into the corridor that ran from underneath GARM over to the underside of the faux generator facility. There, she would climb up into the decoy facility and wait for the inevitable attack; the kid that had reported it was sure this Rico fellow would be here this morning.

On the far side of the tunnel, Elena stepped up the stairwell and into the decoy building. The strike would be terminated with extreme prejudice, which is exactly why the decoy facility had been made. Show them something inviting enough, eventually some half-trained-full-baked dumbass would try and hit it. The beauty of a 'bait-and-switch ambush' was something only a military professional could appreciate to the fullest extent, Elena figured.

-x-

(1010 hours)

Felena gave Rico the right signal, showing that there were no technicians or military personnel inside the generator room. The operation was a 'go mission' operation, and that gave Rico a twinkling feeling between his toes. This was what he lived for, fucking up the enemy by the numbers. Without word, without further eye contact, Felena left her park bench and headed for the civilian spaceport entrance; it would be a long walk from the center of the colony, but far from impossible. There would be safety in movement, Rico knew, because anyone in LOS to the event would be interrogated about it.

Rico, Deke, Spazz, Yura, and Cassandra were the front team. Bear and Felena had done overwatch for the target, to make sure nothing was waiting for them. Five technicians may have looked like a bit of a suspicious group to go into one small generator shack, but sometimes the Magi applied a lot of personnel to what appeared to be a small problem and nobody commented...

Deke shrugged in his stolen technician's uniform, as it was uncomfortable for the die-hard BC demolitions expert. With a practiced flair, he pulled a roll of electrical tape from his tool belt and unhooked a roll of 'cable' from the other side of his belt. Without any manner of hurried intent, he taped the 'cable' to the door in a large oval pattern and connected two devices, one to each end, with wires coming from them. The wires were handed off to Rico, who was holding what would look like an electrical testing device at any sort of range.

"Show time, girls," Rico said as a wan joke. He thumbed the black button on the device, and was rewarded with the muted blast of a directed rope charge blast that cut a hole in the door easily large enough for a man.

The second part of his reward was the sight of Deke's upper body being torn to shreds, and repeated explosion sounds not unlike the cutting charge he had just unleashed. Reality slowed to a crawl, his adrenaline taking over and mashing his perception into a dilated mess, not that it made a whit of difference. He consciously registered the massive exit hole in the metal side of the building, easily larger than what a heavy machine gun produced, followed by another slightly closer to him, and another.

Yura took her first round in the arm, and it promptly removed everything from her elbow down and spread the entrails across the ground to Rico's right. The second round was far less forgiving, a through-and-through that disintegrated everything below her breasts and above her hips into a messy red paste, part of which he ended up wearing. Another round punched a hole in the air, followed by the next round hitting Spazz square in his genitals as he tried turning away. Rico lamented that it had to be quick, the sheer shock of such a hit, when it basically detached both legs and flung them to his sides at high velocity.

Another pair of rounds passed by close as Rico's legs tried carrying him away, but the line of the burst trudged lower and inevitably toward himself and Cassandra. She escaped injury by way of a round passing between her knees, but Rico knew he had bought it when his right shoe decided it (and the lower half of his calf) wanted to move ahead of his body some ten meters. It was strangely painless, the loss of his lower right leg, even as he fell down to the ground in such a way that his right arm folded in under his back with an eerily audible cracking sound.

Rico simply laid there, on the grass outside the generator shack, and watched as wisps of smoke rose from the monstrous bullet holes in the side of the metal outbuilding. He spared a glance for the Armored Marine that exited the shack through the door they had blown a hole open. The realization was as brutal as it was horrifying: he had been shot peripherally by an anti-armor assault rifle, basically a H&K G-11A1 that had been modified to working (2) and rechambered for a very heavy 22.5mm caseless round. There was no common-world comparison to the sheer nightmare of it, he judged, if she could blow through the wall of a building and reliably kill or disable four out of five of their group in less time than it took the average guy to zip up his pants.

-x-

"Combat operations completed," Point Commander Elena declared over the radio. "Confirmed three dead, three captured, one wounded. Medics are stabilizing the last at this time."

"Was that the measure of their death flares?" Strategic Psionic (candidate) Ashe asked the senior Strategic Psionic after she released hands with her two partners.

"Aff, it was," Strategic Psionic Calamira Weste replied evenly. "That was just a minor one, three dead terrorists and not all at once. You heard it because of the body trauma, the silent ones are those who get it in a few microseconds."

"The squalling of the captured ladies is extensive...and annoying," Strategic Psionic (candidate) Sapphire said in clear disgust of their crying when confronted with immediate and swift military force. At least the captured guy was stoic about it.

"They will be interrogated, thoroughly," Calamira said. "I will likely be involved in that, for obvious reasons. The old days practice of inflicting pain or fear to break a mental block is no longer used, but I have my ways of getting deep inside someone's mind without overt physical stimulus."

"Will we need to learn this?" Ashe asked.

"It is your option," Calamira said directly. "Not all Strategic Psionics are rated for Mental Interrogation and Mental Defensive Breaching, because some would refuse to break a person's mental defenses in that fashion. Moral stance and such."

"And you didn't hesitate," Psionic (candidate) Leon said after a moment's silence.

"No," Calamira admitted after a measured moment's silence of her own. "I've seen plenty of hatred over the years, and a lot of it is directed at Psionics. I figure I've got one good chance to do this right, because if Blue Cosmos wins I'm guaranteed dead. Probably the same as you."

"Assurededly the same as us," Ashe replied. "We will observe your interrogation."

"Then you will need to learn how to touch someone's most sensitive part of their mind without disturbing the other parts of their conscience. Ever wonder what causes wet dreams?" Calamira asked.

-x-x-x-

(3 July CE 72, 1730 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, GARM R&D Facility)

Flay was drawn to the site of the thwarted terrorist attack just as readily as hundreds of others were themselves drawn. Part of it was dread fascination, part of it was camaraderie, and part of it was eyes-on confirmation that Rico's team was now officially tits-up.

The main attraction, of course, was the generator shack and the monster holes in it, readily visible from the hundred meters kept away from the scene to ensure she wasn't recognized. The close-in evidence collection was already done, and the damaged panels were being spray-cleaned with a pressure washer in preparation for repair. The bodies were already removed, assuredly for disposal or disposition by the relatives of those slain that could be readily contacted. Flay wasn't making bets on that one.

The scene reminded her of the day she watched her father die in space combat, though the similarities were practically nil between this bloodbath and that horrid day last year. Still, she couldn't help the feeling of instant dread and loss at seeing the places where people had been killed, and that much gripped at her heart with an iron fist – a sadly common happenstance of late, she reminded herself. Things were doing nothing but get more bloody more quickly, as everyone raised the stakes in a huge game of blind man's bluff, only the blind men in this case were gambling with sheer billions of lives – including hers.

The crowd, though formless and without direction, had two real focal points. The first and least interesting was the building itself, mostly because of the immense damage and blood stains. With those being removed, it was becoming less and less entertaining – and less reason for people to hang around.

The second was a little novelty put on the ground about twenty meters up-spin from the battle scene. Flay took her time moving toward to see the second novelty, and found herself curiously amused by it – a small bronze and marble memorial on the ground, with a bronze shoe and the bronze-simulated lower half of someone's leg as the focal point. The quote of the memorial had to be made in complete jest, insult of the fools that tried attacking an obviously-guarded facility.

Flay squatted down and read it off to herself. "Here rested the foot of the marching maligned, attempting to step against what they cannot understand. Their boot was to find our arse, but when they tried they found they had not a leg to stand on. Our high kick proved better than their Rochambeau." she recited the memorial's rather tongue-in-cheek take on the battle here.

"Engineers, gotta love 'em," Flay partially recognized the voice that said it, but she was truly paralyzed with fright when she looked to the speaker. "Jesus, kid, I don't chew on civvies for dinner. No need to look at me like I'm about to serve you in the galley," Century Commander Gerald Lightbringer said to her. A few of the 'tough guys' behind her had a grim chuckle at her expense, though it was short-lived...as was her look of pure terror.

"What's this about, sir?" one of the other onlookers asked.

"One of the close-in terr' got lucky, for certain definitions of the word 'lucky'. Rather than having his body blown apart with a KE penetrator, it just blew the upper part of his shin to bits and rapidly relocated the lower part of his leg. It landed right where this memorial stood, standing bolt-straight in the air. A minute later, one of the engineers from LNC Engineering ran over here to render aid and accidentally knocked the leg over. He was so freaked out by it, he stood the leg back up and then continued running over to the kill zone. He came back about two hours ago and put the memorial in place."

"Isn't this a bit overboard for a memorial? I mean, it sounds like a geek trying to do a comedy routine," one of the less-affected ladies said.

"This?" Gerald Lightbringer snorted audibly. "This is tame for a Magi memorial. Wait until someone has a battle with a particularly notable outhouse in the area, then you get to read some serious toilet humor." There were a few groans at his pun, though Flay figured it not entirely deliberate.

"What now?" Flay asked nobody in particular.

"Well, we have three bodies headed back to the Earth Alliance, one guy in the hospital right now, and three captured. Since they fucked up royally, they're not subject to immediate execution. They'll be scrubbing toilets for the duration. A lot of toilets."

Flay froze in dread again, this time for the realization that they had captives, and the chances were high that those captives could finger her. Her mind went into instant overdrive, thinking of how to jump ship without making it look like she was jumping ship, which would be an instant red flag considering existing matters. She could come up with nothing that would not look suspicious, especially since she worked for a government contractor and she was supposed to be at work for the next two weeks. There was no other way to leave the colony, leaving her no option for retreat. She was trapped in a long steel tube, surrounded by the inhospitable nothingness of space, and it chilled her to know there was nowhere to run to.

She then worked down into defense-in-place options. She had solutions for all her incriminating systems at home, but the big one was herself. If she was fingered directly, it would not matter what she could destroy at home, she would still be captured. Flay Allster maintained no illusions about intelligence gathering and interrogation, she was smarter than to believe she could resist. Given enough time and trickery, they would make her talk, and she would sing like a freaking canary under the right circumstances. She could, theoretically, kill herself to maintain operational security, but that was as much a product of the movies as it was not a happening in real life. Spies and Operatives knew they were valuable, and if captured the government would not likely kill someone far more valuable alive than dead.

Then came the consideration of the other cells, and here her mind froze. After a moment, a simple, quiet thought rang out in her psyche: _what the fuck do I care about the other cells? They have nothing to do with me, with my survival, with what I want, what I feel any more. What the fuck do I care about Blue Cosmos anymore? Sure, the Coordinators killed my father, and that hurts, but it doesn't mean anything anymore. If I killed them all, it would mean nothing in the end, except that I'd be a monster beyond all compare. I'd be like Creuset wanted to be, like he wanted to see the whole world burn. Am...Am I really _that? _Am I really_ _that __**monster**__ reborn_?

With that simple realization, her logic procession reversed.

Jumping ship instantly held no value any more, given her family ties she would not be welcomed anywhere except the Earth Alliance, and Mendel was rapidly proving them irrelevant. If she fled, she could live off the proceeds of the family business, but there was no assurance that the Allster Conglomerate would not be bombed into oblivion if another shooting war occurred. ZAFT would want no part of her, and Orb was a possibility but at a significantly reduced chance for personal well-being.

Being captured didn't strike her as a bad thing in the seconds thereafter. Mendel wanted intelligence, and it would be a simple task for her to simply walk into the administration building, laptop under her arm, and simply offer her services to the Magi. Gerald Lightbringer always always appeared as a very sharp operator in every briefing document she read; he would not pass up such an offer by any measure of chance. Of course, it didn't have to end there, Flay could completely act like she was still part of the BC decision loop and completely nerf the cells under her command, fingering and exposing them for Magi ministration. It may not be glamorous, and it would certainly result in a death warrant and vendetta from the command section of BC, but it was a real possibility.

The mirror of her realization, however, was cruelty in and of itself. Until the last Coordinator was dead or she died doing her duties, she was Blue Cosmos forevermore. They did not give up personnel, ever. Defection or desertion were punished by execution, first time, every time. She couldn't just simply walk, not in these environs, with any reasonable expectation of survival.

Of course, a virus could contaminate their efforts without being traced immediately, as she prepared a way to walk without undue risk...

-x-x-x-

(4 July CE 72, 0430 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, GARM R&D Facility, AI Supercomputer Secured Room)

The 'fishbowl' anti-radiation door closed behind Calamira. She could still communicate via telepathy from this room, but no electronic noise would escape the security measures contained in its construction. This was the ultimate secured conference room on the colony, and possessed the most direct link to the AI Entity that did a lot of the major data processing for Mendel itself. As well it should; the AI entity main servers were a meter north of the conference room itself.

It was all the more secured by the persons inside. Calamira considered herself no slouch, but the next above her in combat terms was Oruga Sabnak. The curve only went steeper from there, with Galaxy Commander Rico next up on the totem pole, then the foreboding but jovial Galaxy Commander of Marines, Carlos Michaels.

The highest quantity of brass and whoopass in the room rested with Gerald Lightbringer. Nobody disputed the possibility that he, as a de-facto Commando if not claimed, could kill every other person in the room and do it without a scratch on his own person. There was no better security for they, but in this case it would not be needed. GARM was still on alert and still had an extra Star of Marines patrolling the grounds; anyone that attacked would not survive the fool's errand for more than a few seconds.

It would be Gerald that set the nature of the conference for the others. "AI, record this conversation, secured and classified under my Codex permissions. Record label Foxtrot-Alpha-dash-Bravo-Charlie-dash-zero, zero, zero, one. Acknowledge when record is secured."

The AI took several seconds. "Transcripts and direct records are now classified to the Division Commanders or select personnel. I am now recording; you may begin at your option."

"This conference is in pertaining to known terrorist incidents in Mendel and the existence of known or assumed terrorist personnel operating under concealment. To whit, this conversation is specifically about one Flay Allster, who through accidental contact with a known Newtype Telepath and through unguarded logic derivation has revealed herself to be a courier or operator in Intelligence affairs within the bounds of a Magi protected zone," Gerald opened the conference. It wasn't his own actions that had resulted in the meat of the information to be presented, he just bird-dogged Flay for better assets.

"I, Strategic Officer Calamira Weste, in following with the prior declaration, have executed cold protocol India-four-seven in pertaining to identified person. Subsequent psionic investigation confirms the allegation of Gerald Lightbringer against Flay Allster. As per Strategic Officer authority, Flay Allster is now declared an officer of an enemy state or agency and in violation of the Geneva convention regulations pertaining to the conduct of officers within enemy territory." With so many words, Calamira had simply declared that Flay could be shot on sight for conducting espionage, sabotage, or terrorism inside Magi territory, with no repercussions whatsoever to the person that shot her.

"I, Galaxy Commander Rico, do confirm this declaration is not made under duress against any parties involved," Rico said for the official records, as it was necessary for the asshole lawyers that would try to litigate the matter to death.

"This declaration is recorded. Flay Allster, when identified, will now be tagged by Magi recognition systems as an enemy officer and—"

"Belay that order," Gerald Lightbringer said. "Under the authority of a field-grade officer, the tagging of Flay Allster presents a risk to ongoing operations and shall not be carried out. Acknowledge my last."

"Order to withhold tagging is noted and will be followed under extensive protest, Century Commander," the AI replied tersely.

"Okay, what's the game here, Gerald? We know she's a spy, why not squeeze her hard?" Michaels asked.

"First, an explanation is due to Oruga, and in that explanation you will understand my logic," Gerald said pensively.

"Sir," Oruga replied to the unstated order to pay attention. Of the personnel, he was the only one not sitting, instead standing at parade rest next to the door.

"You have been dating Flay hard and fast for some time – the only one besting you in shore leave is Clotho, and I think he intends to marry Mayura Labatt within the next year." Oruga groaned, drawing a rapid conclusion that marriage meant kids, and 'Uncle Oruga' would inevitably get stuck babysitting. "Well, Flay has been here in Mendel for three reasons. One, she intends to sort herself out. Two, she is the field commander for Blue Cosmos operations in Mendel, and we are now assured that the abortive assault on GARM was a rogue operation by an adrenaline-freak narcissist who thought he knew what he was doing. He is right now on a shuttle back to Terra, missing leg and all, so he can serve as a clear warning to his buddies down planetside that we don't fuck around on this colony."

"Seyla," Rico said with reverence. His declaration amounted to someone shouting 'damn straight' in these circumstances.

"Third, Flay is looking for someone to hook and grind for intel. She settled on you."

Oruga looked aside for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then looked back to the Century Commander. "That's fucking wrong, sir. Incredibly fucking wrong."

"That's not the whole story, pilot, so don't go apeshit on me and don't go apeshit on her yet. There's more to this problem, to the point that it's more fucking muddled than an anarchist rally would be." Gerald stopped to take a sip of what appeared to be a water glass, though Calamira would not have put it past the old soldier to have vodka in it. "She started out looking for a mark. She's not playing that game anymore."

"Sir?" Oruga requested clarification. "Once you're in, you're in, no?"

"Yes and no," Gerald replied. "The problem is one that the Mafia never quite understood, even though they suffer it to the same or greater degree. Most of their personnel are die-hards, play by the rules, etcetera, etcetera. Mafia personnel, however, have no out; you live for the family, you die for the family. Problem with that thought is simple: the ownership of the Mafia is entirely physical, the mental component is up to the individual. It is not unheard of for a disaffected mafioso, who hates his role and his duties, to still do the tasks assigned him. It's called 'losing heart' in the intelligence communities of the Star Empires, and I've seen more than a few operatives from every Empire that have lost their heart."

"Ah, she's here, but then again, she's not here," Carlos Michaels said.

"And that is the crux of the muddling of this affair," Gerald said evenly. "She's still here, and she even filed a letter-perfect report with her superiors about how badly fucked this past op was. If you gaze into her heart, however, she's not Blue Cosmos, she's confused."

"Incredibly confused," Calamira said. "She has nothing left as far as she can tell. Her family dislikes her, she has no home state, she has no friends and only one person she sees as a possible love – you. She has mentally and spiritually foresworn Blue Cosmos, she's only looking for a creative reason and effective strategy to walk away right now."

"Likelihood that this is a false flag?" Oruga had to ask the question, since she was already confirmed to have tried to play him.

"Zero," Calamira said. "I got close enough to touch her inner core yesterday. She has no residual love for Blue Cosmos, not after what their ethos forced her to do to a certain Orb pilot you don't get along with."

"Yamato?" The Gundam Pilot blinked. "What does he have to do with this?"

"This nightmare started with him," Calamira answered for Gerald. "I don't know the details, only she knows the real story, but she seduced him and tried burning him out in a crusade against ZAFT. Something caused her to have a change of heart somewhere before the end of the first war, though they haven't spoken since those days."

"So, in short, she started out trying to fuck us all, but now is looking for someone to anchor to. She was Blue Cosmos but is ready to defect. How should I do this? I mean, part of me wants to strangle her for trying to use me, the rest wants to hug her and never let her go."

"Knife would be better."

"Gerald," and Calamira slapped at the Century Commander's arm in accusatory fashion. "You have two choices, pilot. One, walk away; I'm sure Gerald can find you a regular duty station that keeps you well out of her reach."

"I have a few ideas already," Gerald admitted. "Two, you play this one for the heart, see if she does actually have one."

"Oh, I think it's there, I'm just not sure if consorting with a spy is wise. I do work with the Mendel 2-I-C and 3-I-C with frequency, after all," Oruga admitted his reservations.

"Do you want to walk away, or give her heart back to her?" Calamira asked a little more bluntly.

"She's not a bad person," Oruga hedged. "I say go for it. Worst case, I find I can't do it and ask for a transfer."

_He can do it_, Calamira thought but did not say.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

This is a clear-cut case of 'when you have a plan, go with it'. What makes it different than usual, however, is the fact that I built this plan in about two hours and executed it in three days (not including beta). Normally, these things take a lot more time, but thankfully my main 'dice' solution for these stories is online at for convenient use anywhere in the world.

On the main chapter, you're starting to see Flay back off mentally from the ethos of Blue Cosmos, though the physical components of her actions will not necessarily mirror this. She still has to maintain the illusion of being BC for the time being, for just exactly the reason that Gerald explained: there is no legit way out of BC once you've signed up. Of course, this being some of my writing, things will go from good to bad to worse to nightmarish to neutral to good, with a maybe on the last two. Things don't always improve in my stories for the main characters, just when you think they are in a place to escape things may actually get worse. All stands at the leisure of the dice, I daresay.

My beta presented a few interesting questions to me in review of this chapter, so it bears mention of them here. The first is the skirmish that Flay was invited to watch for the Dominion's Gundams against a combined arms force of ZAFT and Orb. Mendel held them hard, with ten Gundams silencing 32 of 40 aggressors in a pitched, low-response battle. The simulation was run in isolation from other forces, no naval support for either side and no reinforcements from the other possible responders in Mendel. The result is a given, despite Gundam canon: numbers have a quality of quantity, and when used with appropriate tactics this gives the advantage to the side with the numbers. Of course, with such a demonstration of Magi tactical superiority (if not a victory), the other sides are going to see these results and take notice of the inversion of the numbers game. Training and equipment make such a significant difference when used properly.

Another issue raised is how things seem to be going Mendel's way at the moment, and keep in mind that this by design of the author with support of the dice. There is an inordinate cruelty to Existence, in that when you think you are doing all well and dandy, something comes along and cuts you off at the knees. This applies to everything I write, especially the more brutal stories as this one shall be, but keep in mind that there is also an inordinate balance to all Existence. That which creates the nightmare today gives rise to the state of zen tomorrow and the dreamscape the day after. This applies to Mendel on more than one scale: yes, everything is going right for Mendel today, but tomorrow is definitely a different day and a different story. That's typically how things go for cosmic chew toys.

In the coming chapters, you'll start to see a bit of a shift in tactics on the part of Orb and ZAFT, and definitely in the minor players. This will change the dynamic of the second war to a fare-the-well, with essentially a complete revamp of Destiny in the long run. There was a lot of good to be had in Destiny, but the bulk of it was blown by character derailment and nonsensical insanities that even this long afterward I still cannot decipher what Fukuda (or his wife) was trying to accomplish.

Okay, so I've made it this far, and I still haven't mentioned Flay! A sadly neglectful author I can be, no? Well, Flay's actions, thoughts, whims, all speak for themselves today. She is confused, alone, cornered by her circumstance, and doesn't see much in the way of help available to her. Oruga is her only anchor to some semblance of normalcy, now that she is trapped between a shadow that could crush her and a shadow that manipulates and uses her. The tear of these conflicting statuses will eventually compromise her in a direct and brutal fashion, but the remaining question is what direction does that compromise finally push her? I can guarantee you, it won't feel like the original DFA, not by a long shot.

* * *

**Review Replies**: Two reviews for the last chapter, much thanks to those who add the fuel to the fire!

**FraserMage**: Vhen is the go-to test pilot for Aerofighters, another character is going to be the test pilot for MS, etc. Gerald doesn't operate these things in typical Magi fashion.

**MantaArms1989**: You see Flay's walls are cracking here, and a few breaches blown in them, but the objective circumstances have not yet given her a chance to walk away. This will only get messier the longer it plays out.

My next update is going to be AAA, I swear it. This only happened because I got a wonderful bit of inspiration and ran with it.

**MUCH THANK YOU ALL FOR THE READS AND REVIEWS**! The conflict from an alternate nightmare will continue, of this I swear, but the more reviews and the more ideas provide better ops and better circumstances written.

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**: No outstanding gripes from the last chapter. As always, eternal thanks to my beta-reader, **Necroblade**. Without him, this effort would be so thoroughly muddled as to be impossible to understand.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **W**arm **a**nd **F**uzzy **F**eeling.

(2): The comment about the G11A1 being modified to working is a reference to the problems the original Heckler and Koch G11 had with jamming and rounds igniting inside the gun. The Magi AAR (Armor Assault Rifle), also called the _Panzersturmgewehr_ as it was initially designed by Nazi Germany, does not use the complex rotating receiver system of the G11, instead using a static feed mechanism that rotates the ammunition from perpendicular to inline without a moving part outside the magazine. The action itself is functionally similar to what is used by the MP5-series submachineguns, excepting a modified bolt face that ignites the ammunition electrically instead of by primer (a necessity for Caseless munitions systems that do not have a primer plate).

* * *

**Treatise on the principles of Magi Society**

Another issue raised by my Beta is the Mendel emphasis on discipline. This is a cultural thing to the Magi, and really a bizarre one to convey. Discipline is the watchword, but in reality the matter is more of a question of discipline + honor + loyalty + personal liberty. Any of those components alone as the driving force of a society is doomed to failure: discipline killed the Spartans, honor killed off the Imperial Japanese, loyalty killed off far too many nations to name (Soviet Union is one of the loudest), personal liberty (the illusion of) is drowning the United States. Combine them, however, and you have an interesting premise. My main points:

Discipline combined with honor gives Magi citizens motivation to do what they can for themselves, their employers, and their nation (in that order – there is no illusion of actions being taken for the state in preference to one's family or oneself). A person is expected to see to themselves first and foremost, it is the ultimate intent as listed in the Magi Codicil of The Empire. As an extension of that expectation, a person is expected to do his honorable duty to serve his personal business venture, commercial employer or community, that his actions are recompensated as is appropriate. The extension of that duty to employer is that his or her actions taken benefit the nation as a whole, not through direct result but by economic contribution and service at some level to community and planet.

Honor plus loyalty is the driving force of the military. It is the ultimate expression of duty and honor to defend lives for the Magi armored forces, and the citizens / soldiers know that other societies will slaughter the Magi people wholesale if given the slightest chance. Magi citizens are themselves both fiercely independent and loyal to the Empire that has given them opportunity to be that independent. Societies which rely on heavier structure have severe problems integrating Magi persons due to that independence, personal honor and spirit, and their willingness to defend that honor at all costs. It was not unheard of among the other Star Empires that a Magi planet captured had to be garrisoned quickly and ruthlessly, or the civilians themselves would depose the invaders with frightening alacrity.

Loyalty plus personal liberty is the allure of the society. Why would anyone want to move to a military-executed direct democracy, when there exists immense propensity for the military to do unspeakable atrocity? Simple: people are attracted to freedom and opportunity over the long run far more readily than they are attracted to baser components. When you can literally run your life as you see fit, with little to no outside interference, your opportunities are just exactly as you set them. This is the ultimate draw of immigrants: just as millions of illegal immigrants flood into America for the sheer opportunity of the said nation, so do millions immigrate unto the Magi lands on a daily basis, seeking to escape their prior strata and break into new territory. Many who try simply fail in their endeavors, their initial dreams, but a tour down practically any commercial avenue in Magi territory will provide at least one example of someone who did not fail.

Personal Liberty plus Discipline is what binds the society together, even when faced with the ultimate of persuasion or intimidation. It is no challenge for a group of persons to rebel for (insert cause here), but it becomes a bit of a more indirect problem to that rebellion when the baser motives of said rebellion are not as high-minded as the initial claims seemed. The discipline of personal liberty is what becomes the deciding factor in the life or death of rebellions in Magi society: the belief that a person is supposed to be independent, supposed to be disciplined and honorable in their conduct to others, is often what kills rebellions in the Empire. It is all well and good to rail against any given premise, but when all is said and done a rebellion is a variation of a power-grab, and history shows that most rebellions of this nature are either an outright change of power or a degradation of society into something with far less personal liberty.

Other combinations of the core principles exist, but one thing remains key: the most absolute allure of the Magi society is the liberty of the society itself. Freedom was the primary allure of the Caribbean pirates, that they could escape the stifling aristocracies and write their own destinies. This simple fact is the beacon of the Magi throughout the ages, and its greatest asset. The First Emperor of the Magi is the ur-example pushed forward for any such discussion: a classic nobody when he landed on the homeworld of the Empire, he built his own destiny with his spellbook and his wits, and he showed a world how to throw off the chains of oppression and depredation. Three hundred years later, he renewed the lessons of his early actions, and codified the personal freedom and personal honor in law forevermore; his followers spread the principles of discipline (to oneself) and loyalty (to comrades and nation) to protect those freedoms and honors. A thousand years after the first days, the Emperor stood against the Gods themselves in defense of his Empire, and though temporarily defeated he never surrendered, never withdrew, and eventually suborned even the greatest beings to his principles. It would take a three-millennia-plus-length interdimensional war to cement the Magi as the only state that did not rely on some variant of aristocracy for its authority, a status that has never been broken or even challenged with notable outcome. Though the First Emperor would fade into obscurity his bloodheritage continues to guard those principles, with his granddaughter being the first and loudest proponent of personal honor and freedom among the Magi (as well as being the Empress to boot, a station that gives her plenty of pulpit with which to defend those principles).


	4. Shadows Of The Past

(Jokers Wild Side Story 1, Chapter 4: Shadows of the Past)

(6 July CE 72, 1715 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 3, _El Cactus_ restaurant)

"Haven't seen that pervert once since you scared him off," Flay replied to Oruga's question about her 'stalker'.

"Good to hear," he replied evenly. "Hate to have to get up _mi amigos_ and chase the bastard down, that would just ruin a good day."

"For all of us," Flay commented, since such an action would necessarily be conducted after something bad happened to her. Of course, she had no intention of letting such misdeeds happen and had the firepower to ensure it didn't happen in any preventable encounter, so...

"How's things been going for you?" Oruga asked after the waitress took their initial orders.

"Ugh, bloody crazy," Flay admitted. "In addition to the crap we're already building for the Protectorate, the bosses have us assembling commercial stoves and ovens for sale down below. And, to top it all off, we're assembling some kind of large box missile assembly for the new naval project – I think it is called ELRM or something like that," she complained heartily. "I never knew my body could vibrate in perfect tune to a riveter, and I'm still sore from it."

"ELRM?" Oruga asked, though Flay could tell it was a non-directed question. "Ah, I remember, Extended Long Range Missiles. Nasty customers, on ground they're usable out to four kilometers and will put a solid hurtin' on anything they shoot at. Those are being used on a variant of the _Garm_-class ships," Oruga noted nonchalantly.

"Variant?" Flay asked. She knew about variable loadout Omnimech and Omnifighter technology, but she didn't know it was usable on ships.

"Well, somewhat. The _Garm_-class ships aren't really true Omni units - they can't swap loads on the fly, far too big for that, but they can remove and replace components in a dry dock in about two weeks."

Flay didn't much react physically to the news, nor the discussion, but internally she was both cringing and getting excited. This was a major intelligence coup on an upcoming ship classification, a ship that would undoubtedly have its guns pointed at Blue Cosmos. She just wasn't sure if she should pass the data on to Blue Cosmos or not, given how she felt about them nowadays.

"And we're producing one of its weapon systems?" Flay asked in a curious tone.

"Yeah. The first military _Garm_ is going to be a missile corvette, and it should have 96 of those missile packs total."

That number – the sheer enormity of her task – caused Flay to gape at Oruga. "96? As in four short of a hundred, 96? _Why_?"

Oruga shrugged. "Missile corvette, girl, it is the primary armament of the ship. ELRMs are good against smaller fighters and Mobile Suits, but the heavy punch in the ship's arsenal is a load of 60 AR-10 missile tubes. They'll put a hurtin' on anything larger than an escape pod and smaller than a battleship."

Flay was still hung on the thought of 96 missile launchers. "96 times 20 missiles per launcher is...one-twenty...carry the two...1920 small missiles?"

"Small, girl?" Oruga snorted at the thought. "An ELRM with the first-stage booster weighs 17 kilos. I bench-press those missiles for morning warmups every day. Small they ain't, unless you compare them to the capital missiles used by the Warships."

"Still, isn't that...overkill?" Flay asked.

Oruga snorted again. "Old Magi euphemism: there is no such thing as a fair fight. Only fights you win or lose."

Flay froze mentally on Oruga's comment, instantly reminded that her BC close quarters battle instructor said the same thing. It was a brutally simple euphemism in Flay's opinion, and Blue Cosmos definitely showed they did not fight fair in any arena. On the other hand, the Magi had not shown how 'unfair' they could really fight, and the _Garm_-class ships were just a start on a new line of 'not fighting fair'. With the Magi definition of a battleship being something above 2 million tons mass, and the Earth Alliance _Archangel_ Class (their largest ship) barely making it into the rating of 'escort frigate', a _Garm_-class missile corvette could easily cause significant damage to the _Agamemnon_, _Nelson_, and _Drake_-class ships normally comprising the bulk of the Earth Alliance fleet.

Then her thoughts wandered back to her own problems and how she wasn't fighting fair any more. She had to maintain at least the illusion of working for Blue Cosmos, but in that she had plenty of leeway to 'fudge intelligence reports', 'innocently misplace records' and otherwise obfuscate or cripple their operations in Mendel. Getting herself into a position where she could execute a particularly derailing hit to Mendel Ops before she disappeared into the protective embrace of the Mendel Armed Forces was the truly tricky part: the hit had to be large, spectacular, something that could be fingered to her, and something that wouldn't wipe her out in the process. Options on that were a bit thin, of course, given that Blue Cosmos was about as vindictive as was humanly possible without being a straight revenge organization.

"Lost in thought again?" Flay didn't immediately answer Oruga's question. "Hello? Flay Allster? You still in there?"

"What?" Flay asked in response to the two fingers in front of her eyes.

"You zoned out there for about thirty seconds," Oruga commented. "Had me worried somewhat. I mean, it ain't all that dirty or evil an old policy, is it?"

"Depends on who is using it," Flay replied. "Blue Cosmos says the same thing."

"Oh, those jackwagons," Oruga groused. "Vicious little fucks, but unevenly led. Some of them are competent, almost as competent as Magi greenhorn troops," he mildly underestimated. Flay knew they were somewhat better than Magi 'greenhorns' (troops just out of training but not yet showing a victory in Trial by Combat). "The rest, the bulk of 'em actually, are either average terrorists or worse, like those douche-rockets that tried assaulting a decoy facility nearby GARM R&D."

"True, so true," Flay said sympathetically and meant it. Her experiences with Blue Cosmos confirmed his opinion: a few were good, some of those few were even stellar, but most were ascended scum. "Did you see the little 'lost leg memorial' at that site?"

"Huh? No, didn't know about it," Oruga replied.

"After dinner, I'll show you where it is," Flay said. The phrasing on the memorial was half-juvenile and half-puerile, but still somewhat catchy. The story of how it happened was just as entertaining to her as the actual bronzed memorial. All the more so given the subject of the memorial was caused by the leader of the cell, the true culprit of the puerile failure that annihilated his operations cell.

On the subject of the _Garm_ ships, Flay decided that Blue Cosmos would get incomplete and somewhat altered data on the new class. No sense giving them ample forewarning on their fate when she didn't want them to survive the encounter to begin with, of course.

-x-x-x-

(8 July CE 72, 1900 Hours)

(Earth Alliance Territory, Atlantic Federation, state of North Dakota)

Minot, North Dakota, had two claims to fame: a respectable city, and an unusual military base. Given that Ghosts are not much concerned about cities or their denizens (unless ordered to worry about such things), the missile base was of more interest to the Ghosts.

Ghost Team 7 was the unit called on to deal with such problems. Unlike Ghost Team 6 (the team that had led the way into the Atlantic Federation), Team 7 was a unit outfitted and trained for infiltration work, not assault operations. This reduced their ability to cause damage in the event of a blown operation or orders to sabotage the base, but certain things could be achieved a lot easier without the big guns and heavy armor of the assaulters.

When the unit arrived their first order of business was finding an area outside the base perimeter that they could set up an underground outpost. Two days of searching around the base perimeter came to naught, but a day of searching farther north in the farmland areas presented a good opportunity to the Ghosts: an abandoned supply shack gave them a plausible cover for an entrance to an underground base just as every other Ghost base or outpost was constructed. With their outpost set and ready, the true operations of espionage began in earnest. Nobody would enter the personnel and control facilities of the base, yet, but observing the missiles and missile technicians was ample tasking for their purposes.

Ghost Officer Rise approached the load-bed of the five-ton truck a pair of missile technicians were using to service the missiles and took a quick stock of their possessions. She readily expected the standard-issue assault rifle and bandoleer of magazines, and there was no question about the large kit of tools and spare parts in the truck, but the presence of magnum revolver speed-loaders and a large bolt-action rifle was not something she expected to see.

The 'why' was soon enough answered. "Yo, Brian, I see dinner at 500 yards, grab my rifle!"

"Which ammo?"

"The 180-grain jacketed soft points should do the job," the furthest of the two technicians said.

Rise moved away from the load-bed on the truck and watched as the second technician grabbed up the bolt-action rifle and a box of ammunition. "Here you go, man. Think you can make this shot?"

"Easily, it's only 500 or so out, so I got it."

Rise moved past the truck to a point where she could see the targeted animal. For fun, she ran the calculation on the shot through her ballistic computer, and the aimpoint for the target came out to be nearly half a meter above the target's shoulder and a full meter west from the target due to wind. Calculating the same shot for her rod gun came out to only three centimeters up from the target point and five centimeters west, due to the extremely high velocity the rod gun imparted to its projectile.

The first shot went downrange, easily tracked by its vapor trail by the passive sensors in her ghost armor. Immediately Rise knew the shot would not hit, for the shooter had not properly compensated for the wind. After a flight time of slightly less than a second, the round struck the ground to the east of the elk and a further twenty meters beyond it. "Sonuvabitch, damn wind," the shooter groused as he slowly jacked the bolt to remove the empty casing and load a new round. The elk in question did not spook, but simply looked in the direction of the shooter to listen for what was the loud sound of the gunshot.

The shooter lined up his second shot, and after a few seconds of silence in the area a loud crack destroyed the quiet of the area. This shot went downrange and struck the elk badly – a midriff hit caused it to collapse away from the slug that struck it, but within moments it was up on adrenaline and moving east to west relative to the technicians. "Damnit! Gotta make this quick!" The bolt was jacked and a third round laid in; the tech began tracking the moving elk as it bounced around in severe pain, then fired a shot after five seconds of aiming.

The second technician whistled after a moment. "Damn fine shooting, amigo."

"We eat well tonight," the shooter said. "Grab the parts dolly and begin loading it up. I'll meet you over there with the truck shortly."

"What else do we have to do today?"

"Today, nothing, except clean and cook dinner."

"We just wastin' our time out here, or are these monsters gonna get used?" Brian asked.

"Well, if those space monsters come down here, we're gonna nuke 'em off the map with these old things," the old veteran said. "They don't wanna fight fair, they don't wanna leave us alone, so we'll return the favor."

_Not if I have a hand in it_, Rise thought but did not say. She would take no action today, nor any action unless ordered, but she had a clear plan for both infiltrating the command bunkers (3 existed on base) and for disabling individual missiles. Even if she had to ride the rocket herself and prevent it from achieving deploy altitude, she would. Stopping the nuclear attack of ground targets on Terra was a very high priority.

-x-x-x-

(10 July CE 72, 1715 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 3, Sniper Bar and Grill)

"How're you 'n' that pilot doin', kid?" the Sniper asked after he brought Flay her dinner and glass of red wine.

"Better than my last few tries," Flay admitted. A 'better result' was a given after the complete FUBAR she built around her relationship with Kira.

"Damn good to hear," he answered her update. "Yell if you need anything."

"Will do," Flay replied kindly. After two bites of her salad: "Uhm, where did you get this salad?"

"WCI Industries, they're a wholesale foods and commodities outfit from the USSA. Ain't as good as the fresh stuff I used to get from farm planets in the Empire, but these guys are the best around here."

"Do they sell retail?" Flay asked after a moment.

"Don't think so, but I can talk to the guy I normally do business with and see if he has smaller sizes than what I normally purchase."

"And you normally get how much?" Flay asked out of curiosity.

"Forty head every three days or so," the sniper-turned-cook reported. "Salads are one of my more popular offerings, strangely enough," he said.

"Davion PPC, please," a guy asked as he seated himself right next to Flay.

"Steiner PPC, extra mint schnapps," another guy said from the far side of the new arrival.

"Sweet Tart, please," a lady requested from three seats down the bar.

"Davion, Steiner with extra mint, and a Sweet Tart, roger that, officers." As the cook looked away, Flay looked carefully to her new barmates and was somewhat shocked by the company she was now keeping.

"Think it'll fly, Gerald?"

"Back home, the Admiralty Board would be laughing your ass off all the way to the demotion hearing. This is not to say you couldn't smoke each one of them in the Refusal, of course," Gerald Lightbringer hedged. "Out here, it may just save our asses, boss," the Century Commander replied evenly. "What say you, Ezalia?"

"It is an interesting position you ask me to take," Ezalia Joule replied immediately. " 'Advisory Specialist for Local Affairs' has a bit of a ring to it, I will admit," she mused.

"Best I can give you without a combat-based Trial of Position, and since it is a noncombat position your advancement requirements are different," Wayne Centara replied. "Not that I have any doubt you could win a shootout with some of the other Advisory Specialists, but the rules are a bit different."

"Thank you, Star Admiral, I'll drink to that," and all three raise their glasses in toast.

"A pity to have you removed from the upcoming aerofighter projects, but we need the help in international relations far more than we need prototype aerofighter designs."

"I'll do what I can, but you'll probably need those fighters soon enough," Ezalia answered Gerald's comment calmly. "The Earth Alliance is becoming intractable, I don't think I can placate them for long."

"Twelve months would be optimal," Gerald said. "With that much, we can start bringing new recruits online and into training positions, where they can free up some of the old hands to move to new commands."

"I technically commissioned you under an impossible operations intention," Star Admiral Centara noted. "I don't expect a perfect result – hell, I don't even expect a partial victory on this one, they want our asses for hamburger and they will do their best to get it. Any delay in that reaping more than six months works to our advantage, and twelve months may actually give us a victory solution in the oncoming war. So, do what you can and we may yet live to toast our continued survival."

"I'll drink to that," Gerald answered.

"As would I," Ezalia added.

"And unfortunately one shot is all I get for a day," Wayne looked at his PDA and sighed. With a mighty slam, his Steiner PPC was downed and his other hand went for his wallet. "I, unfortunately, have been called back to the office. See you guys later."

"Bartender, another round, please," Ezalia requested. "This is gonna be a bitch of a job, but I may have a chance to stop the Earth Alliance before they do something real stupid."

"Yeah, like turn a bunch of otherwise stationary objects into falling colonies of mass destruction," Gerald answered. "Bartender, give me a Hell's Horses PPC (1), please," and after a moment he looked to Flay. "You have family or holdings on planet, girl?"

"What? Me?" Flay asked in shock that she had been asked anything by the Century Commander. "Well, yeah, I have a few relatives and some land, why?"

"Better tell 'em to work on an E-and-E plan in case the Earth Alliance decides to nuke some more colonies. They got lucky with Junius Seven not headin' to earth, but the next one may not be so lucky."

"Oh, wow, never thought of that," Flay admitted. "Yeah, well, I'll tell those of my relatives who don't suck about that," Flay said.

"Wait, I recognize her from somewhere," Ezalia said. "Oh, yeah, crew pics from the _Archangel_," Ezalia bowed her head in thought. "Erm, Flay Allster, right?"

_Oh shit, busted_, Flay thought. "I am. You?"

"Ezalia Joule, formerly ZAFT."

"Gerald Lightbringer, Mendel. I believe we met before at the missing boot memorial."

-x-x-x-

(11 July CE 72, 2210 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, RD 4-A-12)

Jeane connected her laptop to the house network and activated the heavy encryption systems necessary to prevent the damnable spies in Mendel from reading her e-mail. Not unlike Flay's personal laptop, this one was also brought to its knees by the custom-built cypher systems, but the security was what they needed, not performance.

Connection with the main Blue Cosmos intel and operations datacenter took 90 seconds of handshaking between the machines, a veritable battery of tests to verify that this was not a hack attempt by an outside party. After the connection was initiated, the laptop began an automatic update routine to revise the security commands and encryption systems, a necessary two minutes of new code transfers to prevent Mendel getting repeat exposure and eventually breaking the encryption.

Another thirty seconds and the vid-comm system came live. "Intel Operations, how may I route your connection?"

Jeane smiled. "C'mon, Tina, no love for your big sis?"

"Jeane?" The operator asked, surprised by the voice and face on the other end of the line. "How's it going, sis? You're in Mendel?"

"Yeah, I'm clean enough to fly up here, and I've got some hot-off-the-press data for our Aerospace analysts."

"Okay, you should take a vacation and come see the family, if those heathens allow it. Our oldest brother's wife is pregnant again."

Jeane snorted. "Typical. He is such a pervert, but an honest one."

"Yeah, he ain't cheating," Tina said. "Ain't helpin' his wife, though. You want routed into Aerospace?"

"That's where I need to be," Jeane said. "I'll try and shake loose some time to visit the family here in a few weeks."

Love ya, sis. Stay safe up there. Transferring now," and Jeane's screen went blank temporarily.

Five seconds later, her screen came live again, this time showing a drafting room with a few people inside, and in the foreground a guy wearing a button-up shirt and tie was sitting at the terminal. "Aerospace Intel, that you Jeane?"

"It is," Jeane replied. "How's it going, Howie?"

"Bleh," he replied sarcastically. "Still trying to copy Mendel's aerospace designs and not getting anywhere fast. I'm having better luck ripping off the South Americans."

"I've got some new numbers on a new unit up here, you ready for it?" Jeane asked.

"Waiting," he said with a pen poised over a notepad.

"Fighter frame designation Mike-Foxtrot-Xray-dash-6-0-0-Alpha-1, codename Skygrasper II."

"Skygrasper II? That's a new model. Did they rip off our Skygrasper design or something?" Howie asked.

"Worse," Jeane replied deadpan. "They ripped the design off and rebuilt it into an Honest-to-God aerofighter, not just the atmospheric-only plane we have."

"Go for numbers," Howie said, cringing all the same. The Skygrasper was a dangerous fighter in good hands, and with Mendel updates it would be even more dangerous than before.

"Dry fighter mass 35.75 tons," by which she meant the mass of the fighter without fuel or internal ammunition. "Loaded mass 45 tons. Maximum external stores 9000 kilograms not including Striker Packs. Capable of carrying one or two Striker Packs of almost any type."

"Holy shit," Howie groused. "That's some serious firepower."

"That's just the external stuff," Jeane admitted. "Internal arsenal is as follows: two cannons, 30mm bore, nose mounted with 125 rounds total, two autocannons in 35mm ultra with 45 bursts, mounted in the wing roots, whatever that refers to," she read off a list, not entirely sure what the certain of the terms meant.

"Ultra autocannons fire at double the rate with a flick of a switch. Two in 35mm will shred anything we can put in the air," Howie said. "Continue, please."

"1 Mark-16 ER Large Laser, turret-mounted in replacement of the standard beam cannon. Energy weapon, feeds of craft's internal fusion reactor."

"Frightening," Howie said.

"Two short-range missile launchers, 6 silos per launcher, one launcher to a wing. Two tons ammunition, which is 180 missiles total, can be binned in two lots with differing payloads."

"That sounds like it could hurt," Howie grumped.

"Last weapon is one centerline internal-mount Skygrasper Missile System, 1 missile plus nine reloads. Again, can be binned in two lots with differing payloads."

"Damn, way better armed than a Skygrasper, and I'll bet it is armored in that shit they use," Howie complained peevishly.

"Five tons worth," Jeane admitted. "Per unit cost is 4.946 million C-bills, which the company is thinking about rounding up to 4.95 for a little extra margin of profit."

"This is insane," Howie groused. "This thing has the firepower to challenge a whole regiment of Saberfish."

"Well, this is reality, not insanity," Jeane replied sympathetically. "Airframe prototype construction just began yesterday, with first prototype expected to roll out in about two months. Full-scale production is expected in FY74 provided nothing goes wrong during the prototype phase. First Binary expected online before the end of FY74."

"We're fucked," Howie estimated their chances. "I hope Djibril can use this data for our purposes."

"I'm just reporting. Good luck analyzing those numbers to find a weakness. Mendel Intel Div is out." Jeane powered her laptop off directly, to hard-terminate the connections and secure the machine from a recursive hack attempt.

-x-

(Mendel Colony, GARM R&D Supercomputer facility)

The problem with communications in and out of Mendel, a problem that Blue Cosmos had overlooked when planning their communications schema, was that all communications went through a single series of routers and load balancers run by the _Mjolnr_ Technicians. This bottlenecked all incoming and outgoing communications, though for civilian use the data throughput was still easily in excess of anything they would need. The bottleneck, however, made traffic analysis and interception pathetically easy for the Artificial Intelligence entity that ran the bulk of the integrated systems in Mendel.

The ease of interception was improved by Blue Cosmos themselves: their communications went through three routers on Terra, one in North America, one in Orb, and one in what would have been Laos. The IP ranges these devices used were easily discerned by traffic analysis: communications with those devices were only using intelligence-grade encryption, as opposed to the civilian-grade encryption used by businesses communicating with home offices on Terra. The heavy encryption on Blue Cosmos traffic only served to red-flag their transmissions to the AI supercomputer system, just as it would have red-flagged the NSA of United States fame three centuries prior. In all real terms, Blue Cosmos's supposedly 'unbreakable' communications schema was about as obvious as a naked guy traipsing through Cracktown with hundred-dollar bills taped to his back. No intelligence analyst worth their paycheck would have expected such a spectacle to go unnoticed, just the same as Blue Cosmos and their 'stealth' communications.

The rest was done with the four Quantum Supercomputers that Orb had sold to Mendel out of spite for the Earth Alliance. The EA refused to pay for services rendered, so Orb had no problem retaining possession of the _Archangel_ and selling spare components to Mendel. It infuriated the Earth Alliance to get the cold shoulder in such a blatant fashion, but Mendel paid in full and on time, a feat that the Earth Alliance could not claim.

s—CONNECTION TERMINATED 2221 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

c—BEGIN ANALYSIS BLOCK 2222 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

The Commando Star Captain (Gundam forces) on duty looked at the monitor and shrugged. "Not much to analyze there, except three things, honey," he told the AI entity inside the quantum supercomputers.

"If you are thinking that Tina would be someone you would not kick out of bed unless she was better on the floor, I count four points of analysis."

"Geh," the Commando groused. "You read me so hard, honey, I might as well be a source file."

"I cheat, Star Captain: I used to be human. I know exactly what goes through a guy's mind at seeing something like that." the AI paused for a moment, which the Star Captain thought was her version of a sigh.

"Okay, first point is we have a flea. No big surprise there, Blue Cosmos wants everything down to our dick size, make it easier to kill us off in the long run."

"We will let their command section maintain that illusion," the AI replied diffidently. "Second point is the family connection between someone otherwise shown as 'clean' and a Blue Cosmos operations center. Given subtext of their conversation, they have an extended family with certain vulnerabilities."

"Man, you really are getting ruthless in your advanced age," the Star Captain replied. "Even at the height of the Quarter War, the Commandos didn't fuck with someone's family. Sets a very bad precedent that we don't want coming back to bite us in the ass. Of course, if they start doing it, I wouldn't object to returning the favor, of course..."

"Okay, point taken," the AI replied. "Third point is the clear breach of security pertaining to the Skygrasper II project, and given the breaching individual, she would also have access to data on the Thunderball and Fireball fighters as well."

"Good, let her," the Commando replied. "She gave them payload statistics, airframe hard numbers, and arsenal. She gave no performance information whatsoever, not even a 'legs' (2) number that can be easily derived from the fuel total tonnage. They have an idea how hard the 'Grasper II can butt-fuck 'em, but they have no clue how hard it is going to be to catch 'em if they ever get that kind of advantage."

"I concede that point," the AI replied. "What should I do about the spy?"

"Tap everything she does; keep an eye on her by all means possible. Begin a contact tree, start determining who her cohorts are and what other processes they are trying to compromise. I'll take a request to the boss to have her apartment spiked. Now that we know who the flea is, we can begin rolling up her entire network."

"And you call me ruthless?" the AI answered with a backhanded acknowledgement.

"I am a Commando, honey," the Star Captain said adroitly. "There is no such thing as a fair fight. Only fights you win or lose."

c—END ANALYSIS BLOCK 2231 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

-x-x-x-

(15 July CE 72, 1820 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 2, outside Ganett's Diner)

Flay fumed at the vibration buzz of her smartphone, a warning that someone was calling her from work. She kept a basic cell phone for personal use, and the laptop she was now using to feed semi-misinformation to Blue Cosmos was a permanent fixture at her place, but the work smartphone was not something she could escape.

After a moment of mental raging at the dreaded device, she stopped and pulled it from the belt loop she wore it on. "Flay," she answered tersely, just civil enough not to draw ire but tartly enough to warn the other party that she was not happy with being called repeatedly.

"Flay, Becky, shop floor," the other voice said. This changed her demeanor immediately; Becky was someone that got along with everyone, and somewhat served the role of a big sister to the entire assembly team (and a select few of the administrative staff). "I'll need some extra hands on deck for the rest of the week, your boss told me to ask for your help in assembling the ELRM packs if you're willing. She said she knows you don't like the riveter, but we have a few other things you can do. It's volunteer, but it is a better paygrade if you take it."

"And I get to dress casual," Flay said, more than happy to dress in something less stuffy than her usual mid-skirt and appropriate blouse combination. "I'm in. Not going to cause problems up front?"

"No, you're not the least expendable of the front crew, girl, but you've got all your purchasing done for the next week and a half, the rest of 'em are behind on their 'papers to push' quota."

"I'm in," Flay confirmed. "See you tomorrow."

"Flay?" a voice behind her asked.

Flay froze at the sound of her voice, mentally paralyzed by the shock of hearing it. She knew instinctively who it was, the voice was unique to her memories for several reasons. That the voice was behind her only added to the shock, that she didn't know he had approached her at all, or was even in the vicinity, or was even in the _colony_ at all.

The Flay that would have remained paralyzed by her fears, or would have ran away from her fears like a frightened schoolgirl, was dying in a small, silent corner of her mind. For better or worse Flay was learning to face her fears one after the next rather than flee them (even when common sense told her to be somewhere else). This was one such fear among many, and ultimately not the worst of them.

"Kira?" Flay asked in response, still hesitant to look back at the one guy she truly (and literally) screwed over.

-x-

Across the road, Century Commander Lightbringer saw what he hoped he would see before he left the dimension to return home: the beginning of a resolution to such a vindictive act of hatred that it even ate at his hardened heart. That he could walk away and know this one was done was a bit of a relief to himself, since he knew Oruga was almost 100 percent likely to stay, and this kind of 'outstanding conflict' could easily destroy a relationship. Gerald was convinced Oruga had earned better than such horrid circumstance and a soap-opera end to their relationship.

Of course, the same thing was being witnessed by someone more than peripherally involved in the matter. "Is this something I should be concerned about?" Oruga asked sensibly, before he would have flown off the handle and started whipping random portions of ass. Of course, Gerald maintained no illusions about his subordinate's hand-to-hand ability, Kira would have readily won such a fight were it to have taken place.

"Yes and no," Gerald answered calmly. "Yes, it is something that will eventually concern you, but not in the sense of propriety of the matter. No, in that this is a resolution of an outstanding demon in her past. Best you allow it to go forward without undue interference."

"That matter you were talking about a few days ago?" Oruga asked.

"Yeah. It began with him, and now it should end with him. And it only ends with 'make-up sex' in a porno or some fangirl's wild dream, not in real life." Gerald handed the younger Gundam Pilot an ice cream sundae.

"You never did explain to me why the ice cream, boss," Oruga said as the two took seats at one of the tables nearby the ice cream parlor.

"This is my one great foil in life," Gerald said. "Whence I suffer a defeat in training exercises, I always end the 'grieving' process with a damn good ice cream treat. The brain freeze serves as reminder that pain sucks, and the time chowing it down gives me more time to think about what went wrong."

"I shouldn't be surprised by that answer," Oruga replied as he watched his girlfriend drag one of his rivals (and Orb's best pilot) into the diner across the road. The hesitation on his face was clear enough answer that Kira Yamato thought it was inappropriate, not that such 'improprieties' even slowed Flay down. Oruga figured that there had to be a long and complex history involved for her to act like that, when she normally was very reserved about such conduct. "In fact, I'm officially not surprised by that answer, sir. So, what did we do wrong?" After he received no answer, Oruga looked to the Century Commander. "Brain freeze? Already?"

Gerald had the flats of his hands compressed against his temples, shaking his head back and forth in significant distress. "Pain is only a four-letter word, pain is only a four-letter word..." he repeated several times. "Now, what was the question?"

"What did we do wrong?" Oruga asked.

"Let Kira spam those beams for too long," Gerald said deadpan. "If he'd've tried that against my Neue Ziel, I would have laughed long and hard as Hel came to collect his poor soul. Unfortunately, my Physalis is not as well-defended against beam weapons." The result had been messy in all tactical terms, with a Pyrrhic victory for Orb on this day. Would that the battle had been real, Kira would indeed have won but the Freedom Gundam would have required no less than six months overhaul to return to battle readiness. Such was the price of going toe-to-toe with the Angel Team, and Gerald liked reinforcing that point whenever necessary.

"You could have l33t haxx'd him so hard, he'd still be feeling the boot in his arse," Oruga whined. Oruga had no love for Kira Yamato; the arrogance was part and parcel of being a mobile weapon pilot (and one of the best), but the high moral tone he took was grating beyond all compare to the Extended-turned-Magi pilot.

"I could have, but then again I don't cheat during training exercises," Gerald admitted. "Of course, when the real shooting starts, there shall be no such thing as 'cheating' or 'fighting fair', there will only be battles we win or battles we lose. To hell with the rulebook at that time."

As Flay and Kira traded gestures at their table in the diner, a question came to Oruga. "Is she really a spy?"

Gerald smiled thinly, barely noticeable to his subordinate. "She just fed Blue Cosmos a ration of blow, giving them a load of numbers that lists the new _Garm_-class missile corvette as about thirty percent less battle effective than it really will be. If Blue Cosmos marches into battle under her intel report, they will get their assholes greased, bored, reamed, rifled, and spit-shined in less time than it took me to frame the thought." the Century Commander snorted loudly. "She is less of a spy now than she is a saboteur to Blue Cosmos. What that I could thank her for the assistance, but she has to keep a low profile to prevent undue 'administrative cleanup' from Blue Cosmos internal affairs personnel."

-x-

"I'll pay," Kira said deadpan. "I owe you an apology for blowing you off that one day, and I just got paid today in a rather unusual way."

"Oh? Here?"

"Yeah, I won a bet against one of the Mendel officers. His price was 1000 c-bills, so I'll cover it."

"Egh," Flay grimaced. "That's...a hefty bet," she hedged.

"I almost didn't win, though," Kira said with a hint of his old airhead whimsy to phrasing. "Gerald Lightbringer isn't a pushover."

Flay gaped internally at the sheer audacity of his comment, given the video she had seen of Gerald Lightbringer tearing apart whole fleets of Earth Alliance ships in his Neue Ziel. "That's...wow," Flay commented.

"Eh, I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you. What happened to you after Alaska?"

"A lot," Flay replied. "I was captured by a guy called Le Creuset, and held on a ZAFT ship as a prisoner. They released me in a prisoner exchange about two months before Jachin Due. I was in Ptolamaeus when the _Mjolnr_ showed itself."

"Are you still Earth Alliance?"

"No," Flay answered the simple question. "I watched them become consumed with nuclear bloodlust. It was...horrifying," she admitted quietly. She had felt some distant amount of horror in those days, like she was watching something she didn't want to happen, but her time in Mendel had sealed that thought forevermore. "I walked away some time ago; now I do purchasing for Handel Manufacturing."

"Handel?" Kira asked, clearly unfamiliar with the name.

"Battle Armor systems and weapons components, and stoves and dishwashers; I buy the materials and occasionally hire in temporary help," she admitted. "It's an interesting job, never a dull moment, and it pays well. The last part is a good thing: apartment rent up here is nightmarish."

"Why don't you come down to Orb? Rent isn't high in the suburbs," Kira offered.

"No, I like it up here," Flay said. "I have family on Earth, and I visit them from time to time, but other than that I have nothing worth mentioning down there. Up here, I'm not 'Director Allster's Kid', I'm an ordinary lady with an ordinary job and ordinary tastes."

Kira grimaced. "You used to never be like that," Kira commented fairly.

Flay knew exactly what he meant. Her chuckle at the thought was short but rueful. "You're right, a year ago I wasn't like this," she admitted. "A year ago I hadn't watched a new future born from the ashes of a barely-aborted nuclear war. A year ago I hadn't watched one of the oldest societies in the entirety of Existence throw themselves in front of a nuclear warhead for people who don't give two shits about anything outside their little PLANT. A year ago I had not watched four Blue Cosmos terrorists be beheaded for killing women and kids at a restaurant not too far from here." Flay sighed gustily, depressed of the chain of thoughts, but definitely not through.

"Flay..." Kira began, but hesitated. Flay shook her head, not looking for sympathy but looking for a chance to say her peace.

"A year ago I had not seen what it takes to live with your hand off the trigger for a day. Most of all, a year ago I didn't know there was anything more to life than just this endless battle between Naturals and Coordinators; where one side rages against the other, short and inconclusive and pointless battles killing people for no damn reason. Bloody population control with the pretense of a race war," she growled. "If that is what the future's supposed to be, just shoot me and be done with it."

"Flay, you're—"

"What? Messed up?" Flay chuckled grimly at the thought. "Yeah, you can say that and back it up. You saw it firsthand, suffered under it by my hand, I'll readily admit that. I had problems back then, a lot of problems, some of them even hard-to-spell problems. You could probably even make a case for me running away from those problems, making them worse, so on, so forth," she hedged, almost making light of her own problems in the face of things.

"Flay, seriously—" Kira began, but was silenced with a raised hand.

"If you want me to be serious, Kira, just listen for a moment. I am being serious, because this is something that's been eating at me for over a year now, before Alaska."

Kira hesitated for a moment, then was shocked severely by what he realized she was saying. "Flay, I—I—You don't—"

"I don't?" Flay asked in effort to cut him off before he dismissed it. "You may have brushed it under the rug, Kira, but I've stared down the barrel of a ten-millie more than once because of it. I thought my parting sentiment to you was my manipulating you into destroying all Coordinators by way of sleeping with you. That tears at a person like nothing else, Kira, guilt of that nature is incredibly destructive." She looked down at the table surface as their plates were brought to them. With a nod the waitress left, not a word said. "I did get help for that one, quite a bit of help," Flay admitted. "Ptolemaeus, Midwest Medical Relief, CB Psychological here in Mendel; I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong, what went wrong, where I went wrong. The answer...the answer was simple. I thought you died that day, before Alaska, believing I was a manipulative skank trying to get you to kill all—"

"—Flay, seriously, you don't have to worry about it," Kira said. "I didn't believe that."

"I find that a bit hard to believe, Kira," Flay replied, showing a little bit of her new grasp of the Mendel tendency to understate things; she really meant she completely disbelieved his response, though he didn't quite interpret it as such. "I knew you knew at a level, then and now, even if you wouldn't admit it then, or do deny it now," The flicker in his eyes was answer enough, she had hit the mark even if he would not admit it. "I figured so. Well, Mendel has taught me one thing above all else: there are debts in life, debts without monetary value, debts without real definition, debts of honor." At her last comment, the reaction in Kira was significant; Flay could not tell if it was disgust or dread. "No amount of psych help can substitute for an apology, and no amount of apologies is going to give you back what innocence I violated in those days."

"And sacrificing yourself isn't going to give it back, either," Kira said sharply. "Mendel doesn't have the answer, Flay. Their way relies on victory of their principles or death in 'glorious battle'. That's not going to restore anyone's innocence."

"Certainly won't restore mine," Flay agreed with him. "We've done our time in Hell, Kira, whips and chains and glossy leather included. What's the value of not having to subject another generation to it?"

Kira's reaction was almost wrenching to Flay: "Which side are you gonna annihilate?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Flay was silent for a moment, long enough to pick at her beef hot-shot. "I killed my innocence the evening I decided to turn you into a weapon, Kira, and for that I cannot ask forgiveness. I want to, but it would never be right. You still have your innocence, mostly I should say, and that's probably why you focus on the extremes." Flay was silent for a long moment, considering how she wanted to express herself and her new stance. "Keep your innocence, Kira, what's left of it; the world needs it. We tainted few, we ancient hands and old glorious Empires of days past, we will do the rest, and then the rest yours. That is my debt." She stood and left the Orb Gundam pilot alone at the table, but at least left him with a five-note to cover the meal she hardly disturbed.

_I really __**am**__ starting to sound like the Magi_, Flay thought once she left the diner. _Such is life. I'll need that skill soon enough_.

-x-x-x-

(16 July CE 72, 2230 Hours Lima (Eastern) time)

(Atlantic Federation, old Ohio Territory (northern half), unincorporated area)

When scouting high-value targets, Ghosts always moved in no less than pairs and usually as a complete element (Star, since each Ghost is his or her own Point). In this case, since the operation called for recon only, the operation included two Infiltration Ghosts from Ghost Point 9.

"Clear of fencing," Ghost Officer Terra said. "Guards?"

"Two, plus electronic closed-circuit surveillance. I have a route nav for us to dodge the bulk of the camera FOV." The likelihood that a basic camera would see their Ghost Cloaks was less than the chance a person could see them, but Ghosts did not gain veterancy and retirement benefits by way of taking chances.

"I have your six, Xion," Terra acknowledged the plan. The two were communicating through data line between their armors, since Xion was wearing a compact fusion reactor to power their cloak systems; any use of radio or even laser communications could blow their cover, so...

"Follow close, we have to be wary of the panning cameras," Xion requested. The two marched slowly and carefully across the large open yard and then angled for a grove of old apple trees on the south side of the structure. They moved slower amongst the trees, given that ground under trees retains moisture longer than open ground; leaving footprints in the shape of a square plate-boot would readily give their presence away, potentially complicating the mission.

"Think he's here?" Terra asked as they moved away from the apple tree grove and toward the northeast horse stable.

"No, this is just a token guard," the senior Ghost Officer judged. "If he was here, I would expect at least a squad of SPO out and about."

"What do you have your anti-grav systems set on?" Terra asked after they reached the 3-4 corner of the barn (southwest corner)

"95 percent," Xion admitted. It took the total combined weight of her armor from 5750 kilograms (5.75 metric tons) down to 280 kilograms. Running lighter was entirely possible, but used exponentially more power and had little purpose on the approach march. Without the external fusion generator, running a Ghost Cloak and antigrav systems at half power gave them an operation time of roughly four hours; running either at 90 percent gave them an operation time of 1 hour, and both at 90 percent gave them 30 minutes of stealth. So long as the grass was not wet enough to compress and remain (leave footprints), the 280 kilos weight was perfectly acceptable for their mission parameters. The size of their armored footprint helped in preventing that.

"Glad you brought a reactor, we'll need it," Terra grumped as they moved from the horse stable to the groundskeeper's barn. "What cameras do we have to dodge?"

"We've bypassed three of them so far, we have one to dodge on the next face of this structure, looking at the outside south face of the house, and then one more to duck under."

"We'll have to plan on just compromising the cameras if we do an assault action, or we can ignore them and go straight for the structure."

"Build a plan for compromising the security network while we move," said Xion as she led the way again toward the house as the camera panned in the opposite direction. "Command will certainly want him captured or killed, and this looks to me to be a likely bolt-hole."

"Hold," Terra said; both Ghosts immediately froze in place. "Flower beds have been watered, we can't step on them without leaving notable footprints."

"Periscope the rooms from range," Xion changed her plan on the fly. "Break right, around the north face of the building. His quarters are probably on the east side. Be wary of possible cameras or disguised security measures."

"Already looking," Terra acknowledged. The two ghosts carefully tracked around the northwest corner of the house, then trekked east across the north face of the building until they passed the north parking loop for vehicles. "Hold, I hear something," Terra said.

"What?" Xion said, then paused as she listened close to her external microphones. "Yeah, that sounds like it might be significant. Good ears, girl. Get your periscope out and start looking."

A Ghost Periscope was a bit of an unusual device. The periscope itself was a stark contrast to the rest of the Ghost's equipment, in that it was made using early 2000-era technology as opposed to the hyper-advanced armor and stealth systems the Ghosts routinely used. It consisted of a folding-segment metal pole for moving a closed-circuit camera up to a higher-level window, was adjustable in height up to 20 meters, and was topped off with nothing more complex than the security cameras and shotgun microphones they had dodged on the way inside. So long as the Ghost was holding it, the camera itself was still cloaked by the standard cloaking system, but the farther it was extended the more power the cloak had to use to keep it invisible.

"Second floor, window six, nothing," Terra said. "Looks like a business office, no documents loose."

"Check two-seven," Xion ordered. They were still hearing the sound from the upper floors, but it kept changing.

"Two-seven is the same room."

"Two-eight?" Xion asked.

"Secondary bathroom, one male on the crapper," Terra reported. "Fixtures look to be worth a small cargo exoskeleton in value."

"Two-nine?" Xion requested, knowing that it was the last window they could reach without moving off the asphalt walkway to the front door.

"Bedroom, unused," Terra reported.

"Take it up to 3-2," Xion requested, since the windows on the third level were fewer in number than the levels below the numbering started lower.

"Master bathroom, no occupants. Whole room looks to be worth about a light battlemech."

"Not surprising," the senior Ghost groused. "Next room please."

"Indeterminate, looks like it might be an over-spacious master bedroom?" Terra twisted the camera around to change the field of view a bit. "Yeah, I can see the foot of a bed if I angle the camera right."

"Next window, then; let's see who's in bed, ne?"

"Roger, 3-4 is..." Terra's sentence when her camera focused in on the occupants. "Okay then, Charlie (3), I believe I have visual on Djibril and one."

Xion was quick to pirate her partner's feed to verify. "Confirmed, Djibril and one more."

Both Ghosts were silent for roughly ten seconds. "Not a bad catch," Terra said.

"Were I of such a bent and I found her in my bed, I would not kick her out unless she was better on the floor," Xion acknowledged.

"Since when did you fly that way, girl?" Terra asked in a semi-accusatory fashion.

"You missed the first half of my statement?" Xion returned the question. Terra was silent for a moment as she checked her comm log. "Told you."

"I concede," Terra grumped. "At least they're pretty athletic about it."

"Wait, is that **legal** on this planet?" Xion asked after Djibril and his consort changed techniques.

"I'm fairly certain that isn't legal on a third of Magi worlds," Terra gaped. "All bets are off for this place."

"That takes S 'n' M to a whole new level, comrade," Xion barely sputtered. "I've seen enough," she groused after she had a second to regain her composure. "Check the room for intel."

"Aff," Terra replied, herself significantly shocked by their conduct. "Room does not have any major desks or edifice."

"Very well, check any other windows and break down the periscope. We've completed our objective for a day."

-x-x-x-

(18 July CE 72, 1645 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, GFS Retail Foodsource)

Flay did her usual routine in the GFS store without reserve, given that she was becoming more at ease with life in Mendel than she was willing to admit. Shopping was something she had always enjoyed, and even in these days of change and re-evaluation she enjoyed some good shopping, but GFS was more than just normal shopping habits. This was the store in which she planned her week, her outings and her dates; what she did for the days she was not eating out she had to coordinate here, and make sure she had the supplies on hand to do so.

"This is interesting," Flay mused to herself. The product she was looking at was called 'Triasha Sugar', and like any other non-Terran product for sale among the Magi it had a small map of the old political states – commonly called the Inner Sphere – with a highlight on what planet it was made. The packaging said it was from the southern continent of Kimball II-410, which prior to Magi involvement on the planet was something of a 'hot potato' between the Lyran Commonwealth and Draconis Combine. A stop at one of the store's data terminals gave her a good reference for both the sugar and the planet it came from.

The sugar in question was exactly what she needed: Triasha Sugar was easily suitable to baking and did not have the metallic aftertaste of imported sugars grown in areas thick with heavy metals or industrial contamination. The southern continent of Kimball II was almost all agriculture, whereas the northern continent was mixed agri / manufacture and the central continents were almost completely mining / manufacturing, an interesting lesson for Flay. She decided that Kimball II would be a conquest of her family in the future, when the Allster Conglomerate could afford its own Jumpship and could strike out on its own to colonize such an otherwise self-sufficient world. Might take 300 years or so, she estimated offhand, but patience could be used as a virtue or a weapon in proper hands.

"What else do I need?" Flay asked her list. "Strawberries, flour, vanilla extract, and strawberry gelatin," she read off under her breath.

"Baking a strawberry cake?" Flay looked up at the speaker, who turned out to be the meganekko who was infamous for her cake conduct among the local teens. Up close Flay was able to take a better gauge of the lady speaking to her. Fifteen, likely sixteen, brown eyes, brown hair (shoulder-length), heavy glasses, mostly respectable dress (Flay wouldn't have been caught dead in her pants, but everything else was on the up-and-up), appeared reasonably fit, and her eyes definitely did not show any manner of restraint or callowness. "The vanilla extract is sold out."

"Serious?" Flay asked. "Anyone have any?" Flay continued automatically.

"The retail spots are out," the lady answered. "I keep some on reserve, of course."

Flay saw this one coming: "What's the price?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort," the lady said. "Tell you what: you front the supplies, I'll bake it for a c-bill and a half since I have some other baking to do. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow, my boyfriend is out on the _Dominion_ right now, wanted to celebrate a little change in my, erm, mindset," Flay said.

"No problem," the girl said. "I can have it done and frosted by midnight."

Flay considered it for a few moments. "Can you have it ready by, say, 3PM tomorrow?"

"Easily. Cash on delivery, or you have no fear of prepaying?"

"Fifty cents now, the last buck on delivery," Flay decided, then handed her fifty in coin. "Deal?"

"Deal," she said. "Name's Hilde. You?"

"Flay."

"Flay, as in, 'flay someone's hide,' flay?"

"Not a bad thought," Flay mused with a clearly faked evil intonation. "The same," she confirmed her name.

"You're not in school, are you?" Hilde asked after a moment.

"No, I was cleared due to prior military experience," Flay answered. "I've been thinking about going in for trade school or college, but I'm not sure what I would want to do and I don't want to fish at going rates." She was referring to the tuition fees for college and trade school. Trade school was free for someone who entered immediately from standard schooling, but continuing education / adult education was not free. College was never free, and though assistance was available it required a student loan. On the other hand, Mendel Technical and GARM Research Institute were offering courses in fields that no other university would or could offer – and classes were full with students and instructors from ZAFT and Orb.

"Good luck with that, girl," Hilde grumped. "I want to take the quantum physics classes; I can't afford even the basic welding class right now."

"Story of the working girl's life," Flay agreed.

"Meet out front with the goods?" Hilde asked.

"Be out in ten."

-x-x-x-

(19 July CE 72, 1230 Hours Lima (Mountain) time)

(Atlantic Federation, Blue Cosmos training camp, Mountain Home, Idaho)

"Good to see all you rocket scientists got the latest memo," their drill instructor said.

"Sir!" the training platoon shouted.

"No doubt, a few of you are scratching your heads about what is going on here, why you've had your standard assault rifles yanked for these heavy-ass monstrosities," and the drill instructor jostled his own weapon. "Well, let me explain something to you brain-canners," the drill instructor practically spat his distaste of this group. "The Mendel pukes have a love for armor. A fucking shit-ton of armor. Armor here, armor there, armor in their ass-cracks, even. Hell, their douche bottles are rated IIIA for bullet resistance." a few of the trainees chuckled, a few of the girls giggled, but most were silent. "Therefore, we have to issue anti-armor weapons to just about everyone, because just about everyone in their combat and combat support services is armored."

"How the hell can they afford that, sir?" one of the recruits asked.

"I dunno, but I suspect a wizard did it. They have a lot of those, despite what they say about not having any. Anyway, the best way to scrap these twats is to give everyone ample firepower to damage them. Thus I introduce to you all the M32 rotary grenade launcher. Delightful little piece of hardware, the M32. Old American piece, it'll sling six rounds of 40mm just as fast as you can twitch your fingers. For taking on their armored units, it's a damn necessity. You shoot their armored infantry with an assault rifle, they'll laugh at you as they chop you to bits with a beam saber. You shoot them with a grenade launcher, they will feel it."

The drill instructor took aim down the firing range at a hillock with a bullseye pattern etched into it. A quick twist of an adjustment screw on top of the device and a little angling of the weapon, and he squeezed the trigger. After a flight time of two seconds, the bottom edge of the bullseye erupted with a puff of smoke to signal a hit.

"That's a damn good first shot, but keep in mind that these pussies will be moving, hiding behind their shields, hiding behind cover, climbing up armor. You will need to get used to putting the first round on target, because the likelihood they will give second chances is low." He stepped up to a table and picked up a demonstration 40mm grenade cartridge, one that had a quarter of the cartridge removed axially to allow the personnel to see what comprised the cartridge. "This is the 40mm HE-DP round. High Explosive, Dual Purpose means that you can use it on both heavy armored targets and on light armor or unarmored targets, such as civilian cars or houses. Most of the time, this is what you will use, though in some high-threat circumstances you will be issued HEAT rounds for more direct action. You will each be issued five loads of grenades – 30 shots total. Don't expect much more than that; the main military formations come first in terms of supply, but we're all used to improvising, aren't we?"

"SIR!" The unit confirmed.

"About one in ten of you will be issued this little monster;" the drill instructor picked up a boxy assembly and hefted it over his shoulder like a rocket launcher. "This is another old American plaything, the M200 FLASH rocket launcher. Fitted with improved 67mm anti-armor rockets, this thing is guaranteed to put a hurting on their armored infantry. I rather wish I could give this one to all of you, but again the army comes first in this case. We can, if necessary, go in behind enemy lines with assault rifles and wreak havoc; they are expected to take the brunt of Mendel's fury, so they need the best equipment for the job."

"Are they really gonna come down from their mountain?" a teenage lady asked.

"Eventually they will, eventually," the drill instructor groused. "All of you who do not have a three-point sling for your weapon, raise your hand." Only three did; the DI simply lobbed each of them a sling in the factory shrink-wrap package. "Since all of you have to qualify on the M32, I am going to demonstrate opening, closing, reload, and emptying shells, and once we put some rounds downrange we will work on cleaning and maintenance. Any questions so far?"

-x-

"Yeah, I got one, how honest are we being about those pop-guns actually working?" Ghost Officer Kyle Barnstead asked nobody in particular.

Ghost Officer Victor simply grunted in response. "Those rockets might be trouble," he commented. "Face hits and all that."

The Ghosts were watching the training cells in action at a range of 800 meters, invisible and connected by power/data cords to prevent communications intercepts. The area they stood was well away from the possible lines of fire for the training battalion. Hearing what the personnel had to say was simple: shotgun microphones and laser audio sensors were easy to use and relatively safe in terms of stealth, as well as giving plenty of good audio for their records.

"Oh, target practice time, let's see how well these greenhorns handle their big, smexy new toys, oi?" Kyle said.

"Meh, five c-bills says someone shoots their own foot off," Victor groused. His thought was predicated on the fact that grenade-launcher grenades were relatively safe; they had to fly for several rotations through the air (technically about fifteen meters linear travel) before it would arm. Inside that arming range, it was little more than a chunk of metal with an inert explosive filler flying through the air at (relatively) low velocities.

"Five is on, stanka," Kyle confirmed his position in the bet. "They can't be that inept. It's humanly impossible." The two Ghosts were silent for a few seconds. "Did she just—bloody hell! That fucking wanker! GAH!"

"Five bucks, o ye of overabundant faith," Victor ordered. "Pay up."

"How the hell did you do that?" Kyle asked as he recorded the necessary bet authorization onto his codex. When next he updated his Codex, the central computer would transfer five C-bills to Victor's account to resolve the debt.

"I always bet on terrorist stupidity. Never confuse ruthlessness or cunning for raw intelligence or skill, they are not the same thing."

"Lousy bastard, you are," Kyle grumped. Victor simply chuckled in response.

-x-x-x-

(20 July CE 72, 2045 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Flay hummed a repeating and unique little tune while she washed her dishes. Mendel was a high-tech colony to begin with, and the Magi were steadily improving it in ways that people could only dream of, but not all the typical Terran conveniences were available or existed in quantity. Automatic dishwashers, strangely enough, were in short supply and definitely not high on Flay's purchase itinerary: they were costly to purchase, costly to install, and costly to run (she expected it would double her already-significant water bill).

Still and all, her cheerfulness was born of the past few days. Flay, being the unofficial girlfriend of a respected (and somewhat feared) Gundam pilot, had been in the military docks to pick up Oruga when he had been called in for the shoot-ex final debrief. The Century Commander had waved her in explicitly, along with a couple that looked to be military analysts for the press, and Flay received a firsthand run-down of Mendel's warship _Dominion_ breaking even with one of the aces of the last war, Orb's vaunted warship _Kusanagi_. The warship-on-warship simulated action had been stunning and brutal, with the _Dominion_ taking 40 percent hull damage in the last shoot scenario in exchange for administratively sinking their erstwhile foe. The MS-on-MS action was even more so brutal, with Mendel breaking dead even against Orb's veterans in a fifteen-minute face-punching match. Oruga still bit it, in the end, but his administrative demise paved the way for his comrades Clotho and Shani to "absolutely smear Kira from Hell to Breakfast and yank the entrails back along the return path," or so went Galaxy Commander Rico's description of the ace's downfall. With Gerald Lightbringer freed of the necessity of matching up against Kira for a battle, his ability to demolish a Warship with precision ranged fire was the clincher in destroying the _Kusanagi_.

The realization that the whole battle had been a team effort from end to end was a bit shaking to Flay. The Earth Alliance venerated its aces to an unrealistic degree, men and women like 'Mad Dog' Morgan, 'Sakura Blossom' Rena Imelia, and even Mu La Flaga (The Hawk Of Endymion) early in the war were the stuff of legends and held up as shining beacons of what to do. Mendel's grim practicality both used and subverted that same principle: elite soldiers were venerated and more to the point used to train the next generation of incoming warriors, but every soldier was taught and brutally reinforced that teamwork at all levels was the key to victory. Even the Magi Trial of Position required victory in appropriate formation-on-formation battle to achieve a new posting. The disparity of belief, of tactics, ended up hurting the _Kusanagi_. Kira had been left to operate alone against the Terrible Trio, and though he scratched Oruga and damaged Clotho's machine, he lost in the end. That loss left the _Kusanagi_ practically undefended against one of Mendel's aces, the Century Commander (Mobile Forces).

The shock was derived from the thought that what she had intended for Kira, for him to annihilate the Coordinators, was an impossible goal. She had consigned Kira to an inevitable demise in an impossible mission. There was little doubt that he was the best – he even beat one of the Magi's top aces slightly more than half the time – but the numbers would have eventually caught up to him and killed him for real – a fate that would have driven Flay over the edge. The pure wanton cruelty of such an intention had turned her stomach the day she picked Oruga up, which had postponed the mini-celebration she had planned for her change in intent.

A good night's sleep and a day off had cured her of the blues and angst, which worked out in Oruga's favor just the same as hers. Oruga had to return to base overnight for maintenance checks and verification, but he was out at 0600 the next morning. What followed was 12 hours of off-and-on flirting interspersed with running around the colony, touring the interesting spots and doing some (admittedly minor) shopping. Dinner had been at the Sniper Bar and Grill, and Oruga had paid for the drinks. Neither the secretary or the pilot had any overt problem walking, but both knew the other was a bit loaded.

Her piece de resistance was the cake. Hilde had delivered better than promised, with a cake that looked nearly professional in decoration and frosting. There was no wording on it, nothing more special than sliced strawberries and a double-thick layer of vanilla frosting. Even so, for an otherwise nondescript cake it was the highlight of the evening and probably what had won the day for Flay. She could sense Oruga was on the edge of thinking this as a serious relationship, and the effort of the cake was probably the tipping point where he figured Flay was really trying to grasp something other than her prior ways...or just another guy.

They had shared a quick kiss before they parted for the evening, and Flay was left with a small mess to clean up from the cake. The remaining dessert went with Oruga for his teammates, and Flay had her imagination to keep her company in the coming days. That her imagination was running wild was to her benefit; as well as thinking about Oruga, it also served as fuel for her to think about ways to get out of the mess she was in with Blue Cosmos.

-x-

"Damn, this is pretty good cake, though why strawberry?" Clotho asked.

"I'm not objecting," Shani said defensively before Oruga could say anything.

"Don't get uptight now, dingbat," Oruga derided Shani's immediate reaction. "I dunno what the occasion really was, I get the feeling that it had a few more things going than just our promotion and her office circumstances."

"For a strawberry cake, it's damn good," Gundam Pilot Alicia Yamato said. "Reminds me of home, actually."

"From your girlfriend?" Century Commander Lightbringer asked as he picked up a slice and a fork.

"Aff, sir," Oruga replied as he bolted to standing and attention. The other pilots were quick to follow suit, but Gerald waved them back to sitting.

"Damn good cookin', kid, I think you have a winner there. A'course, I don't think she's home-body material in the classic sense, so you'd better treasure what cooking of hers you get."

Shani arced an eyebrow. "Do I sense a story here?" he asked with a clear hint to tone that he knew something was up.

"You do," Oruga replied diffidently. "A'course, said story is on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know."

"Hrm, what's the occasion?" Gundam Pilot Argus asked as he entered the pilot's lounge.

"Oruga's girlfriend has something goin' on, so we get the leftover cake," Clotho answered for Oruga. "We just can't figure out what is goin' on, but we're not objecting to dessert."

"Well, score two for the unit brats," Argus said before he took his first bite. "Damn, definitely a score here, kids. I wonder if she can do a whole sheet cake like this one?"

"Not sure," Oruga answered wryly. "She only cooks small things most of the time, barely enough for her."

"Got a picture yet?" Alicia asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah, here," and Oruga presented the senior Gundam pilot a 3x5 portrait picture of her. "Taken just today."

"Holy shit dude, five points for the hotness factor right off the bat," Clotho said.

"Red hair's a bit of a turnoff to me, but definite points for the rest," Shani replied.

"Definitely," Alicia echoed. "Were she found in my bed, I would not kick her out unless she was better on the floor." Her phrasing caused Argus to spray water and strawberry cake bits out of his nose. "Oh, sorry about that old man."

"I keep forgetting you lean in that direction," Argus grumped.

"Someone has to balance out the karma in the unit," Alicia answered. She returned the picture after another good look-down. "I'd say give her a shot, she what she's worth. Worst case, far more fish in the sea."

"Best case, you win, and score big-time," Clotho added with a cheerful smile.

Oruga looked over his shoulder to the Century Commander. "Since when did we have a gutter surgically implanted in Clotho's brain?"

"I, no," Gerald denied. "His girfriend-with-benefits might have done so, though. Can't confirm that."

-x-x-x-

(22 July CE 72, 1030 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Mendel Administration Building, Floor 10)

"This meeting is now in session," and Gerald Lightbringer brought his fist down on a rubber ducky, which let out a characteristic squeak.

"Arrgh!" Star Colonel Tellos (callsign Kingfisher) answered.

"All hail the Hypnoducky!" Calamira stated the traditional unit joke for the opening stanza.

"All right, ye louts, we've got ourselves a few situations here, so we need to get our ducks in a row. So, we start with you, Kingfisher. Say it," Gerald ordered.

"Fun times headed downstairs, boss," the Star Colonel answered. "Me 'n' the boys are headed out with our Physalis to simulate some blitz raids on Onogoro and the Orb Mainland. Kisaka wants some hard data on penetration prevention, so we'll give his boys a run for their money. After all, we're the craziest mother-duckies in the fleet, and it only takes one crazy with a 500-kilo bomb strapped to his ass to ruin Orb's day."

"Expectations?" Gerald asked.

"Three of five, I'll be moonwalkin' my Gundam in front of the Orb Senate building."

"Don't make too much of a scene, I don't want to see it on the major news networks. Like usual, use all nominal security procedures for your weps." By law, Gerald could not order Kingfisher and his men to disarm, since the NEST Teams were classified as a 'strategic defense' and 'first strike' asset and needed to be nuclear-armed at all times. It was not unusual that they did cross-training exercises with full arsenal, nor were they unaccustomed to it.

"Little scene?" Kingfisher hedged, holding two fingers up with a gap of half a centimeter visible.

"Little scene...make it tasteful," Gerald allowed. "Spec Ops Gamers?"

"That would be me," Star Captain Vale said. "As much as I don't like leaving the defensive ops to the slinkers and skaters, I also don't want them getting a good look at Ghosts in play. We may be allied with Orb, but I don't trust elements in their government to be capable of finding both ass-cheeks with appropriate hands and written instructions, much less trust them with operational intelligence." No explanation was needed; everyone in the room knew the Star Captain was referring to the Seirans and their seeming love affair with parties that would otherwise have preferred them dead.

"Concur," Calamira replied. "Everything I've heard from Bozo Senior and Bozo Junior says they don't particularly like us. Revealing even a hint of Ghost capability to the Charlies would score them some brownie points."

"Fair enough, go with the usual capabilities but also take just your Ghost Cloak. I want you to play some fast-and-loose when the dickheads _de rigeur_ are not looking. Remember, if they see the capabilities but not the hard limitations, it creates a fear factor in anyone who hears the tale...all the more so that we will be reinforcing the datum points in other places soon enough."

"Aye, sir, by the order of the Hypnoducky, it shall be done," the Star Captain said.

"ARRGH!" Calamira, Tellos, and Gerald all gave the traditional response for this classification of meeting. They were joined by a fourth voice, one that was not visible but clearly audible just the same.

"Well, now that the spooky dude in the room has spoken up, deliver your report and get back to work, Star Commander."

"Honor to the Hypnoducky," Assault Ghost Star Commander Tradan McKenna prefaced his part of the briefing. That he was still invisible did not creep out the other persons in the room; they were used to the vagaries of dealing with invisible beings. "Star Captain Vale makes plenty of noise about we Ghosts, but I should remind ye learned apprentices of the Hypnoducky that we Assault Ghosts are all the fun times of the Armored Marines, with the added benefit of not being visibly irate like the Marines. Four points of we slinking marauders would be more than ample to silence every Blue Cosmos infiltrator in the colony and have the paperwork filed before the first echoes of our shots fade."

"Big talk for someone who hides even among allies," Vale groused.

"Perchance, after you are done spanking the Orb Defensive Operations Teams, would you care to prove your mettle against my point?" Star Commander Tradan asked. "I will even give you a 2v1 numeric advantage over my point, make it slightly more fair to your men."

"We'll discuss details after I return; I could use a new bondsman for cleaning my Trinary's armor and maintaining weapons..." Vale let the sentence hang deliberately.

"Likewise," Tradan replied in kind. "Regardless, we have the identities of all Blue Cosmos personnel in the colony compromised and their apartments are all spiked. Keeping an eye on them is an administrative task, and following them or preventing actions would be a simple venture. You can breathe easy for a day, Star Captain."

"And that brings us to point four of four. Calamira?"

"Penetration and interception of Blue Cosmos communications in the colony is running at 90 percent right now – there are a few messages we have not decoded, but most of their ciphers are real-time decryption actions. They cannot use high-end ciphers for their real-time video and audio without completely crippling their laptops, but text messages do have very strong encryption. Ai has one dedicated quantum mainframe computer and two stringers assigned to the task, but results are iffy at best, and take forever to no gain at worst."

"It would be good if we could get a look at their crypto programs from the inside," Star Commander Tradan said.

"We can't compromise any of their assets without blowing OpSec and forcing an enemy asset refresh," Calamira complained. "On the other hand, next time they do make moves for an operation, I intend on having their laptops captured before they can be deleted or destroyed."

"Fair enough, anything from the gallery?"

"Neg, sir," Star Colonel Tellos answered after a few moments.

"Very well, Hypnoducky declares this meeting is now adjourned." and he squished the rubber ducky once again with his fist. Without further word, Tellos, Vale, and Tradan were all out the door to conduct their operations and preparations necessary for the upcoming training matches with Orb. "And Flay?" Gerald asked of Calamira, the last person in the conference room beside himself.

"She still rides the edge," Calamira answered. "She can be pushed back into Blue Cosmos territory with a wrong move on our part, but more likely she will walk soon enough, especially if given an overly idiotic order or outside factors force her hand."

"I do not relish the circumstances that would cause such a make-or-break decision, but having her out of harm's way would be a bit of an ease to my heart."

"Growing soft, are we?" Calamira asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Suffice it to say, I don't particularly like seeing broken hearts, even if I must knowingly inflict them from time to time."

"True," Calamira said thoughtfully. "Well, we get to break some hearts down in Orb, so..."

"Yeah, I think they're ducked sideways," Gerald answered before he picked up the eponymous rubber ducky. "I am glad these Spec Ops meetings are classified and never taped. If the enemy saw this, they may get the wrong impression, thinking we're cosmic fuckups instead of the bad dudes we really are."

"Real men respect the rubber ducky," Calamira answered. "The rest, well, kill 'em all and count the duck-fuckers."

-x-x-x-

(22 July CE 72, 2200 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Unlike the others in the Blue Cosmos covert ops of Mendel, Flay actually used the standard media terminal in her living room for something other than a dust magnet. Normally, it was used for listening to streaming audio from the jukebox in the Sniper Bar and Grill, and occasionally she watched the BarCam when a fight broke out or someone was holding an assembly in the building.

For most of everything else not entertainment related, she used the laptop issued to her by her Blue Cosmos handlers. For unsecured messages, it was fast enough to do the job; quantum computers were still mainframe size or larger, meaning anything server-sized or smaller was still a standard 512-bit architecture linear processor machine. It wasn't particularly impressive, especially given the computational power available in Magi gear (4096-bit processors were considered 'old-school' by Magi standards), but it was reliable and it was 'safe' in the parlance of Blue Cosmos. Flay knew better, because she intended to make it decidedly **un**safe to BC at a time of her choosing.

Of course, since she was connected to the general internet, her machine did have a tendency to go out and look at the Blue Cosmos communication node to verify it did not have any incoming messages waiting for it. While this action might have looked suspicious to an alerted intelligence agency, it was nowhere near as conspicuous as it would be using basic unsecured email systems to transmit their orders.

Today, the laptop in question saw a waiting message for her, and immediately secured a link to the main BC messaging server to download the message. The message went through a pair of 512K encryption routines and a 256K RSA hash encryption, a theoretically unbreakable combination for standard computers and even standard mainframes. Flay's laptop had to strive to decrypt the message even through the built-in decryption interface, the security was so tight on it.

ZZZ – SPECIAL OPERATION NOTICE - ZZZ

TO: FLAY ALLSTER (MENDEL OPS COMMAND)

DATE: 21 JULY CE 72, 2350 HOURS

VOID IF NOT ACKNOWLEDGED BY 24 JULY CE 72, 2300 HOURS

REF: SPEC OP TO BE CONDUCTED IN NEXT 2 WEEKS MAX

INVOLVED PARTIES: ALLSTER, MENDEL 2ND OPERATIONS CELL

AUTHORIZATION: ADMIRAL WILLIAM SUTHERLAND

CLASSIFICATION: HIGH VALUE TARGET

OPRATION SECURITY: TOP SECRET, HIGH COMPARTMENT (INVOLVED PERSONS ONLY)

DESC: IT HAS BEEN DETERMINED THAT THE EXISTENCE OF STRATEGIC OFFICER CALAMIRA WESTE POSES A SIGNIFICANT HAZARD TO CONTINUING OPERATIONS IN THE EARTH SPHERE, AND IF LEFT UNCHECKED COULD POTENTIALLY CRIPPLE ALL EFFORTS TO RESTORE OUR WORLD TO ITS BLUE AND PURE STATE. LISTED ASSETS ARE TO DEVISE AND EXECUTE AN OPERATION TO ELIMINATE STRATEGIC OFFICER WESTE AND EVACUATE THE COLONY. METHOD, RESOURCES, TIME FRAME, OPSEC AND PERSONNEL ARE TO BE UNDER FULL CONTROL OF ALLSTER FOR THIS OPERATION. EVACUATION ON COMPLETION OF OPERATION IS EXPECTED AND IS TO BE HANDLED EXPEDIENTLY IF NECESSARY. NO ASSETS WILL BE AVAILABLE FOR SPACEBORNE PICKUP; RECOMMENDATION IS COPERNICUS FOR EVAC AND EXTRACT. AME NO MIHASHIRA IS CONSIDERED COMPROMISED AND IS NOT A RECOMMENDED DOCK FOR EXTRACT PURPOSES. ONCE EXTRACTED, PERSONNEL WILL BE CHARTERED TO PTOLAMAEUS AND THEREAFTER BACK TO THE ATLANTIC FEDERATION.

PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF THIS ORDER PACKAGE WITHIN 1 HOUR OF DOWNLOAD.

ADM SUTHERLANDS SENDS AND WISHES TEAMS LUCK AND GODSPEED.

ZZZ – END NOTICE

Flay read the document once, twice, then groaned. "Fuck no! No, no, no! This is a suicide op, and it's bloody open season for nuclear warfare if this is pulled off!"

Flay quieted herself a thought hard. _Okay, they want Calamira dead. No big surprise there. If they can kill the Strategic Psionic, they have free hand to attack anything they want with an absolute minimum of raid warning. I don't want that to happen, because Mendel will respond with their own nuclear capability, which will put holes in the planet or the moon. Big fucking holes. Holes that might include me_, and her mind envisioned a scene of a mushroom cloud with an arrow pointing somewhere into the base, with the slapstick humor caption 'you are here'. The thought of such a happening could naught but horrify her, especially since she didn't want to die any time soon and certainly not by being caught in nuclear crossfire between nations.

_If I want to avoid becoming a radioactive fart in the wind, I need to prevent this operation from being executed cleanly. If I know BC process right, the other team will have received a stand-to order, so I can't just bury it and say I didn't receive anything. I have to come up with some way to both show the operation as going forward, but ensure it fails or someone will get nuked. How do I do that_?

After a few seconds of thinking in multiple directions simultaneously, almost to the point of a mental/physical panic reaction, a nasty little voice in her head gave her the answer. _It's only cheating if someone reports it_, her ego told her forcefully.

"That's...it! I got it!" She reached for a notepad she kept near the phone, with pages of notes and seemingly random info that made perfect sense to her. One of the pages even included a number and a series of time frames that happened to match the time on her clock right now. She picked up the phone set and immediately shut off the video feature, not willing to show a less-than-presentable appearance to the person she was about to call. 53-2707-6585 displayed on her call center for a brief moment that her hand hovered over the 'place call' button, before she stopped hesitating and tripped the call.

The link rang twice, a holdover familiar sound of the old telecom systems that had never existed in space and few existed on Earth nowadays, with most voice and video communications handled by dedicated data circuits. Partway through the third ring, the link crackled. "Lightbringer," the voice on the far side of the line groused.

"Flay Allster," she said. "We've met a few times before, but never spoke much."

"Oruga's girlfriend, if I remember correctly," the Century Commander noted.

"Aye," Flay replied simply.

"I won't ask how you acquired my residence number, but I will ask why you're calling me at 2200 in the evening."

"Sir, I think we need to talk about something face to face. It's pretty important. Tomorrow, Sniper Bar and Grill, call it 1700 hours?"

"Myself alone, or do you want Oruga there as well?"

"Yourself, Oruga, and Strategic Officer Weste. It concerns her, mostly, but all of you at least in part."

"We'll be there. Lightbringer is out." the link cut after a brief pause.

_This is where it gets real hairy real fast_, Flay thought to herself. She reached down to the laptop and activated the 'acknowledge message' routine to set things in motion.

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

And the author would like to agree with Flay's parting thought at this moment. It's about to get not-so-pretty for everyone involved, especially Flay.

This chapter was quite a bit of fun to write. I tried looking at things from the point of view of a Flay Allster who had given up on that milquetoast / wallflower attitude and is slowly taking more and more charge of her fears and affairs. You see a bit of that new-found attitude here, in that she is not just cruising along and obeying everything put in front of her, she is beginning to show initiative at more than just one level. Of course, initiative assumes taking charge of events, which itself assumes taking risks in your actions, which Flay is starting to subconsciously accept and factor into her long-range thinking. So many people simply cruise through life, unwilling to gamble for (INSERT REASON HERE), but achievements are made by those without inhibition to risk.

Of course, things will get a lot messier before she really begins taking charge.

There are a few interesting datum points to consider from the chapter. First, I think Gerald Lightbringer is beginning to lose his edge; not surprising, he hasn't had a huge amount of challenge here in the CE lands, and this is giving younger aces like Kira plenty of maneuver room. On the other hand, as Oruga pointed out, he is fighting fair at the moment; woe betide those he decides aren't worthy of 'fighting fair'.

Another consideration point is the second mentioned scrap, where Kira did eventually lose to the Druggie Trio despite one and a partial kill in that engagement. Pay attention to the text between the lines on that one; it will show up as part of the opening chapter to Jokers Wild Set 2.

The Ghosts got a serious workout in this chapter, which is to be expected; Mendel needs intelligence on enemy intentions and capabilities, and one of the easiest ways to do so is to simply watch them. Ghosts are an interesting little piece of Magi triptych, dating back to the days before the Star Empire Wars. Descended of the old Terran Dominion Ghost Project, the Ghosts are a blend of the Infantry / Marines and the invisible spies of the Dominion, with extra functions thrown in for good measure. The great challenge of Ghosts is simple: don't be found. There will be more work with the Ghosts, and more to the point there will be a seriously twisted Ghost Run in the Jokers Wild main arc rebuild, so stay tuned on that front.

Now, for the technical points of the chapter. I'll start with the issues brought up by my Beta, **Necroblade**.

First off, you're seeing the beginning of a new class of warship here, the _Garm_-class, or at least the beginning of the non-civilian version. As Necro pointed out, there are limits written into the Junius Treaty that should compromise Mendel, of which they do. However, at the time of this chapter, Mendel has two colonies active and two more commissioned for repair and restoration. Per the Junius Treaty, Mendel is allowed five warships plus one per active colony, for a total of seven ships at present. Two _Archangel_-class ships (_Thrones_, _Dominion_), two _Flame Eater_-class ships, one _Riga_-class ship, and one _Sendai_-class are the active ships around Mendel, and the third Mendel colony will be active before the new _Garm_-Class ship is out of shakedown. Anyone with recommendations on the name of the new ship is welcome to offer one. Drop me a review and I'll pick the name at random.

Another issue brought up is computing power. I touched on it above, but to give a full run-down of computer power among the Star Empires would take a whole sj1tload of time and explanation. The above numbers can be used as a raw gauge: in standard computing architecture, you can expect Magi / Mendel systems to be around 8 orders of power above existing standard terminals. The catch, of course, is that quantum computing is native to the Cosmic Era, which is a field that the Magi have only dabbled in from time to time. Systems with quantum mainframes have an advantage over an equivalent standard architecture, which is why you saw the Archangel get lucky and break the C3 encryption in realtime in chapter 5 of the Jokers Wild.

You know, more than once I've said the Magi have a bit of an arrogance problem. Big men have big problems, after all. One of the big problems the Ghosts have is they tend to think their invisibility gives them a form of immunity, which it does not, and they also tend to be a bit jaded about unarmored infantry and their ministrations. Expect that attitude malfunction to cause problems in the long run; a few Marines and Ghosts are going to get a very rude awakening...provided they actually survive, that is.

And the last technical detail issue is power usage for the Ghosts. As pointed out above, there is a lot of very powerful equipment in use on a Ghost's armor: anti-grav systems (also used on Marine armor), Ghost Cloaks, sensor systems, recon systems, the actual pilot interface and control systems, and the myomer musculature systems that allow the armor to move and increase strength exponentially of the armored trooper. Magi energy storage systems are well in advance of anything in use in Starcraft or Battletech; at this point in the story, no less than 15,000 years have already passed since the initial baseline technologies were introduced (exception: the anti-grav systems are somewhat newer, being only 13,000 years old). Power usage has been reduced in all of the systems involved, and power capacitance has increased extremely, making operations times a lot longer than the paltry 240 seconds you get out of a Ghost in Starcraft. There are ways to conserve power, but if circumstances demand more powerful stealth or anti-grav settings, the operations times of the major systems in Ghost Armor is still measured in minutes at worst, or hours at best.

On a sub-note of the above, Necro was asking why the Magi don't have more exotic weapons and technologies than they do. Well, Battletech explored that one at length, what happens when you're subjected to a nasty all-out war that eliminates a lot of the necessary technology base to maintain that pinnacle? In Battletech, it was called the Succession Wars. In the Multimage Chronicles / Jokers Wild, it will be / is called the Star Empire Wars. Literally, some Magi planets have gone from technocrat havens to iron age technology and back again. There have been more than a few incidents where the breakthrough in a technology on one side was 'raided' by another side and the ensuing battle wiped the advance and/or personnel involved out. The eon after the Star Empire Wars helped correct a lot of those losses, with the Magi standing on the edge of the next great advances at the time of the start of the Jokers Wild. Hey, things could always be worse :)

On that note, I think I'm done for a day.

NEXT UP: Flay's desire to prevent the loss of the Strategic Officer costs her a hefty penalty in more than one fashion.

* * *

**Review Replies**: Three reviews, all short and sweet. Love the feedback, guys!

**FraserMage**: Not much in the way of blood today, but you are right about it getting worse before it gets better. I guarantee it.

**MantaArms1989**: Gerald would not sing that, mainly because he doesn't want to tip his hand :)

I'd say his motivation is part of both your ideas. He knows how to spot someone who can be swayed (as opposed to die-hards), and he isn't the heartless bastard that he occasionally shows. You get to see a lot more of his not-so-heartless side in this chapter.

**Knives91**: Magi don't play fair unless it's Trial By Combat. And Magi law does not allow Trial by Combat for terrorists. You can probably guess how that will end :)

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! Keep 'em coming, as shall I.

* * *

The Gripe Sheet: No gripes, chapter three was fairly clean. Much thanks to **Necroblade** for cleaning out my FUBARs.

* * *

Footnotes:

(1): **Hell's Horses PPC** is a Clan variant of the PPC drink. It is four shots of grain alcohol cut with two shots of firewater and one shot of MD 80/80. You have to have a surfeit of bravery (or serious mental issues) to willingly drink this PPC or any of the other Clan PPCs.

(2): **Legs** in this case is referring to flight endurance by way of how much fuel a craft can carry relative to its expected flight altitude and fuel usage characteristics.

(3): **Charlie** is an old United States term shortened from Victor Charlie, the Nato Phonetic of the abbreviation V-C, which itself stands for Viet Cong. In Magi use, the _Charlie_ term usually is used when the speaker finds himself or herself surprised by a given turn of events or phrase, as a backhand acknowledgment to the Viet Cong's mastery of stealth and surprise.


	5. The Blood on Your Hands

(Jokers Wild Side Story 2: Dilemma Of Flay Allster) (Revised Ver)  
(Chapter 5: The Blood On Your Hands)

(23 July CE 72, 1700 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel Colony, Sniper Bar And Grill)

Flay had already downed more than her personal limit of cocktails, but she kept telling herself she needed something to calm her heavily-frayed nerves. Her whole intention to talk to Gerald Lightbringer was unnatural to the point of enervating; what she was about to do could very well get her shot on the spot, especially in a society that followed some of the old-world definitions of honor and justice.

She considered it ironic that she was about to readily admit her part in a conspiracy to enable mass murder in a society that nearly venerated people capable of such skills, and admit it to one of the most powerful men in Mendel. And to her boyfriend. The truly ironic part of her intention, however, was that she readily expected to not be punished for her prior, current or coming conduct whatsoever. Any 'normal' society in Existence would have had her arse for hamburger within hours of telling her tale. She considered it thankful that Mendel operated on a different model than any other.

Her fifth drink was a Scotch and Rocks, though it was handed to her by Oruga and not by the waitress for her quarter of the bar. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized who took a seat in the booth across from her, though she subconsciously welcomed Oruga's presence on this matter. She glanced up to see Gerald Lightbringer evict the next booth over, with a rather generous offer to pay their tab for the evening if they took residence on the other side of the room. The same offer was made to a nearby table, who also complied, which left nobody in easy earshot of their corner booth.

"Clear, boss," Oruga said as Gerald sat down with his own drink.

Gerald nodded. "I believe you called the meeting this evening, thus I will allow you to open," Gerald said simply.

Flay sighed, steeling herself for what she was about to do: admit herself to be a terrorist. "I'm going to start by confessing that I am, at least officially, a Blue Cosmos operative."

"Well, that's just...crazy," Oruga grumped. "What's the catch?"

"I've been asked..." Flay began, but trailed off.

Oruga waited in the silence for nearly a minute. "Asked what?" he prompted.

Flay nodded, obviously trying to steel her resolve. Gerald waved him off, a silent gesture to allow her to take her own pace in this matter. "I've been asked to enable an attack that would thereafter make nuclear strikes against Mendel and ZAFT impossible to stop," Flay said.

Oruga opened his mouth to comment, paused, and closed it. After a few more seconds, he spoke up. "How?"

"Calamira Weste," Gerald replied cynically. "With the Strategic Officer still in play, there is no way they can attack Mendel, Copernicus, or ZAFT without us having prior knowledge and preparation."

"Yes," Flay replied. "I've been trying to get away from Blue Cosmos for some time, but this is my breaking point. I can't let this one happen, or...or..."

"Or death on an unimaginable scale, probably also including yourself," Oruga beat the Century Commander to the same thought. "Why wait until now, Flay?"

"I couldn't find a way out without getting myself killed, but this one can't fly. I'll just have to take my chances."

All three were silent for a minute. When the waitress approached, Gerald spoke up first. "Five rations of 'brass cases' and dipping sauce," he requested of the waitress. Given this was the Sniper Bar And Grill, the menu was coded in 'sniper jargon', and ordering 'brass cases' was the same as ordering chicken tenders from any other (normal) establishment.

"Did you really tell them guys you'd pay for their drinks to this point in the night?" and the elder barmaid waved a finger at a table in the distance.

"Aff, I did, and I would be much obliged if you didn't repopulate these tables until we are done," Gerald replied evenly, indicating the buffer zone around their booth.

"You say so, but make it quick sir. We're starting to get part of the evening rush in."

"We shall not be long," Gerald said definitively. All were silent again until the waitress departed. "So, you have presented us with a problem, now what do you propose as a solution?"

"I don't know," Flay answered after a moment's hesitation. "I just...I know I don't want them to succeed, that is for sure," she said with some gusto.

"Okay, simpler question: what attachment do you have to the Blue Cosmos personnel in the colony?"

"None, none at all," Flay answered decisively. "If you have to kill them to prevent this, I won't impede it."

"It may come to that," Gerald answered. "I think a deception action is in order. Oruga, you are going to help Flay design an operation plan for them to attack Calamira, and then we'll structure a response operation to capture or eliminate the operations cells involved. Do you think you can go along with such a double-sided plan, Flay?"

"Yes, easily," Flay answered. "I want out. Can you get me out?"

"I think we can get you out," Century Commander Lightbringer replied evenly. "Got an idea. You work for Handel, right?"

"Right," Flay replied evenly. It wasn't a secret, so she figured she wasn't compromised...completely.

"You have your boss' personal number?"

"I do," Flay answered.

"Give her a call. Tell her that your boyfriend's on leave for a couple days and you want to spend 'em with him. Given you've hit the scotch real hard tonight, you're not going to be in any position for work tomorrow without a cleanup capsule, and those things are extremely expensive for civilians."

"Yeah, no foolin'," Flay replied with a little more flair to her voice. "Ten c-bills a pair? Who the hell sets the price on those things?"

"The pharma company manufacturing them is under investigation for price-gouging, but I doubt they'll find anything," Gerald replied. "There is a goodly supply of the small things, since they are an easy nanomachine manufacture of, erm, nanomachines in a bio-gel coating, but the demand for them is absolutely through the roof. Supply and demand does set the price, after all is said and done."

"Oh," Flay grumped. She was quick to make the call and received a two-day vacation with cheers from her boss.

"Oruga, you're on leave for two days, my authority. How you conduct yourselves is your concern, but I am going to have to issue some homework: assemble a decent assault oplan for them to take down Calamira, then forward it to me so I can convert it to an ambush. Take your time assembling it, no rush. Set it up for 7 days hence, say you have a pattern on her already and know that will be a solid attack time."

"Can do," Oruga said. "You up to it?"

"I will be," Flay replied as the chicken tenders arrived. "May I?"

"Dig in, I ordered them for you two," Gerald answered. He looked at his PDA device and grimaced. "Damn, gotta go. Have a good evening, kids."

-x-x-x-

(24 July CE 72, 0600 Hours Lima (Orb/UTC-11) time)  
(Orb Military Training Center, Urban Warfare Training Course)

"Nothing typical about these guys," Sniper 1 reported.

"Sniper 2?" Star Captain Vale asked.

"Aff, concur. These guys are acting like dutiful spec ops guards, not terrorist blokes or even regular military," Sniper 2 reported.

"Oh? Radio check?" Sniper 1 asked rhetorically. "Mark. Two, keep an eye on yours, we can time the radio checks."

"Aff," Sniper Two replied. Five minutes later, he marked a radio check as well.

Ten minutes passed in silence, as the Mendel Commandos waited for their opportune moment to strike. They could see the nerves in the eyes of the foes, as the sentries looked out through the urban course and could see nothing but knew something had to be there.

"Sniper one, mark another radio check on my tango."

"Command, aff," the Star Captain replied.

Four minutes passed, again in silence, as the two snipers kept eyes on the objective building and its sentries. "Well, well, what have we here?" The unit heavy weps specialist asked rhetorically. "Boss, we have a sniper moving in the open, rooftop of objective building, northeast corner. Small-bore wep, no camo or frills," Commando Officer Ellie Maxon reported calmly.

"Can you do him from your vantage point?" Star Captain Vale asked.

"Aff, but it will have to be noisy, my weps aren't silenced," she reported.

"Assault One, I have LOS to target sniper and a suppressed weapon. Shall I?" Vale's lead assaulter asked.

"Wait for send command, then go ahead," Vale instructed.

"Sniper 2, mark a radio check on my tango."

"Send your shots," Vale immediately ordered.

It was surreal to Vale, who had only sight to the eastern sniper. The sound of the shot reached Vale just about the same time as the marker round reached the target. After a few seconds, the guard touched the paint spot to see what struck him, then examined it and muttered a curse visible at the range but not audible.

"Sniper 1, tango down."

"Sniper 2, tango down."

"Heavy, confirm tango down, good shooting Assault 1."

"All forces, close slow. Prepare to make entry by demolitions."

Among the tufts of weeds and grasses around the buildings of the Urban Combat Training Center, seven formless lumps stood up and immediately checked their surroundings for anything hostile. After ten seconds of no confirmed threat, the Commandos began moving slow, crouched down to reduce silhouette, and each darted from one place of grass to the next. Their heavy ghillie suits gave each of them a modicum of camouflage when in the tall grasses of the area, enough so that at more than 20 meters they were nearly indistinguishable from the grass around them.

The seven troopers wormed their way to the objective building in just under two minutes, each of the seven unseen by the opposition inside the building. At the perimeter of the building, they moved slow and deliberately, checking each window for traps and personnel inside, until the seven formed up at the window nearest the northeast corner.

"Tangos inside this room, and a lot of important docs," Sniper 2 warned, pointing to the wall next to them.

"Connolly, head down this wall and place a breaching charge on an unused room. We'll use it as a diversion to get a flanking team inside."

"Aff," the demo specialist said with a smile.

"Ellie, set up and cover the breach with your LMG. That tuft of grass looks solid enough," and Vale pointed to a patch of meter-tall grass that would have been a flower garden if this was a properly-inhabited area. Her setup point was about fifteen meters away from the objective building, giving her a nice and easy shot to anyone dumb enough to come out of the diversionary breach.

"Oh, I get to play the sacrificial lamb for a day, what fun," Ellie said with forced cheerfulness.

"Bbbbaaaaahhhh," Assault 2 replied, mimicking the baying of a sheep.

"I will be taking that one out of your ass tonight," Ellie groused even as she trudged out to her ambush point.

"Someone's getting sexed senseless tonight," Sniper 1 said with an evil intonation.

"Someone's getting a sternly-worded e-mail over this conversation tonight," Star Captain Vale said with just the same evil intonation. Half the team chuckled quietly in response.

Connolly moved down the northern wall, again careful to avoid silhouetting himself in a window, until he found an unused small room to use as a diversion. Rather than creating a normal man-sized breach, he simply strung a line charge (1) around the window and attached a pair of detonators to it. With the charge set and ready, he double-checked the detonators and activated the wireless detonate feature to get clear. "Demo ready," Connolly reported; the entire operation took less than a minute.

"I swear, he must have been a demo guy in a prior life," Ellie commented.

"Fire in the hole," Vale ordered.

"Aff," the Demo specialist said before he tripped the detonator switches. The first detonator went off without issue, which precluded the necessity of the redundant detonator while it achieved the needed result. The instantaneous sound of the snapshot detonation would have easily scared awake some recently deceased persons, much less the remaining guards personnel in the building. Vale watched cautiously at the edge of the window to their planned entry area as the guards snapped alert and took defensive positions against possible breach of the room's primary entry.

The two assaulters had done the same, and as Vale moved to slowly raise the window so did they. Each of the three raised their window without issue, maneuvered their suppressed weapons into place, and took aim at the backs of the enemy. Both the assaulters cut loose with a suppressed burst from five meters, a simple shot even when one-handed. One of the struck defense soldiers simply cursed, the other spun to see who and where the fire came from; the shock in her eyes apparent when she saw the camo-concealed face of a Mendel Operator.

"Echo, three, go!" Vale barked a short command to his team, which set in motion a pre-planned maneuver. One of the Assaulters maintained aimpoint on the door to the room, while Conolly, Sniper One, and Assault 2 entered the opened windows. With three inside, the windows were closed and Vale took the remainder of the team down the wall toward the breach.

The sound of Ellie's heavy machine gun served as warning that someone had approached the breach to investigate. A shouted curse from inside the breach told tale of her effectiveness behind the sights of the M60-J8A4, a venerable base weapon but heavily upgraded over the centuries of its use. In perfect example of her eugenic traits and conditioning, Vale could recognize as she used only her right hand and shoulder to handle the M60, allowing her left hand to bring up a G7A2 Rotary Grenade Launcher and snap off three paint shots between bursts from the light machine gun. Return fire came from inside the breach, signaling that not all the enemy were downed; Ellie continued her fire in a suppressing pattern, allowing Vale to approach the breach unhindered.

"Sending frags," Vale put out on the radio for his team before he tossed a pair of paint grenades through the breach and into a side wall of the room. After the grenades detonated, Vale was the first around the corner and first into LOS for the room internal entry, though it didn't last long as Assault 1 moved forward of him to put a heavier weapon on the doorway.

"Tango, far side of door! Bang and clear!" Vale ordered as he took guard position behind a table that had been knocked over by the breaching charge. A sub-machinegun of some kind came around the doorjamb, being held by handle and stock and not shouldered to keep the firing individual out of the line of return fire. His wild spray was ineffective in the few seconds it lasted, his Hollywood tactics not even accounting for a scratch on the Commandos before the first entry team put paid to him from down the hall.

The flashbangs were pro forma, but just as useful as initially intended. One detonated solo, then two more in the space of a bare second, and his assaulter led the charge into the hallway of the objective building. Once in the hallway, the assaulter immediately went right and found herself face-to-face with an enemy rifleman. He was still shaking off the stun from the flashbangs when he heard the call of his fate: "Blade, blade, blade! You are down!" Commando Officer Kali said clearly and loudly, rendering him harmless for the rest of the exercise.

"High-value target sighted," Vale said as he caught sight of Colonel Kisaka staggering around to his left in the hallway, also suffering disorientation from the flash grenades. "Render secured!"

"Aff!" Sniper 2 replied as he moved forward to take control of the Colonel. It was a simple task to put a pair of handcuffs on the Colonel in his dazed state, meaning the objective of securing the HVT was completed.

"Objective check!" Vale ordered.

"Primary one, secure enemy intel, cleared!" Assault One said.

"Primary two, secure HVT, cleared!"

"Secondary one, disrupt IED manufacture ops, cleared," Connolly declared as he held up a detonator from the enemy IED manufacturing area.

"Secondary two, eliminate enemy personnel, cleared," Assault One (Kali) answered.

"Put 'em on safe and let 'em hang, this one is done," Vale said, though even to himself it sounded hollow enough to belie he did not trust his own declaration.

"Back out the hole in the wall?" Connolly said. "Ellie?"

A few seconds passed with no response from the heavy weapons operator. "Ellie? Respond!"

"Methinks we're not so done, boss," Sniper One groused.

"Hostile area extract, out the breach," Vale said. "Assault Two has point."

"Aff," Point Officer Nikon moved toward the breach, with Vale immediately behind him. Nikon was good, real good at walking tight and keeping his guard up, which is why Vale put him forward.

Time seemed to dilate and slow for the Star Captain as he paced toward the breach put in the outer wall of the objective building. He saw Ellie in her concealed LMG post, though her face in the dirt and her hand slack on the M60 grips told Vale that she had been downed. A spike of awareness at that moment told Vale all he needed to know: above him and to the north, someone stood in ambush, their mind flared and racing in anticipation of coming kills.

The Star Captain reached forward to the back of Nikon's ghillie suit and yanked him back just as his right foot passed the breach. "Wha—OW!" Nikon shouted as he collapsed backwards. "Damnit! Took a hit in the ankle!" True to his word, a splotch of red rested on the outside right of his boot, just where the ankle would be.

"Sniper, rooftop and to my right," Vale said.

"How did you know, sir?"

"I dunno," Vale answered semi-truthfully. He had his suspicions as to how he knew he was about to be attacked, but he said nothing of the sort. He had to be rated before he could claim Newtype skills, and the NT rating assessment was a bitch for anyone, especially infantry.

"How do we get the bastard? Guns blazing?"

"Neg, we step out and he'll massacre us," Vale groused. "He's close. Time for some fun with a 'nade," and Vale reached down to Assault One's harness and stripped off a full-size paint grenade. The safety clip came off, and Vale put his finger in the pin loop to pull but was stopped by a cry from his downed assaulter.

"Shit, sir, I'm bleeding! That was a real round!" Nikon said.

"What?" Finger still in the pin loop, Vale nearly whipped around to look at his downed comrade and specifically his ankle.

"Motherfuck, this hurts!" Nikon shouted.

"Kali, begin first aid." Vale approached the breach in the wall cautiously, making sure he was not silhouetted or in line of fire to the sniper. "SNIPER! RED TEAM LEAD! CHECK FIRE! REPEAT, CHECK FIRE! YOU ARE LOADED WITH WAR-SHOTS!" he bellowed out the breach.

"What?" a slightly muffled shout retorted. "OH SHIT!" the cry came up after a few seconds. The radios clicked, signaling an open-band transmission: "ABORT EXERCISE! BLUE ON BLUE WITH LIVE AMMO!"

"Medic to breach in objective building, one casualty!" Vale ordered on the same open radio band. Immediately he could hear the sound of a siren start up and begin motion. "Sniper One, release the Colonel!"

"What the hell happened?" the 'deceased' Orb heavy weapons operator asked as he stood and brushed some of the paint flecks off his vest.

"That's what happened," the surviving Orb sniper said as he dropped his rifle's magazine on the one standing table in the room. "We were fucking issued these 'blue' mags from stores. My mags had four paint rounds, and I used four paint rounds to zero in on your LMG gunner," he admitted.

"Jesus," Vale groused, looking at the 7mm solid slug on the top round of the magazine. "Looks like someone wanted a little bit more realism in this exercise than just the paint rounds."

"Everyone, check your mags," Colonel Kisaka ordered of the ODOT team. "You guys?"

"We packed our own ammo in," Vale said, though he still complied. He ejected the magazine from his Rorynex SMG and levered down the load assist retainer to allow him to essentially dump the small rounds onto the table. All his were paint rounds, as he had loaded the day before on the dropship.

"Fuck, sir, same here," the ODOT assaulter that Kali 'knifed' said. "Four paint rounds, rest of mag is full metal jackets."

"Load up!" Captain Vickson ordered of his team. "I know exactly who the bastards are that's responsible for this attempted slaughter, let's go get the fuckers!" The Captain of the ODOT team looked to the camo-painted face of his erstwhile training foe, Star Captain Vale. "You want in?"

Vale nodded, knowing there was an unspoken camaraderie among special forces troopers everywhere. It would be that camaraderie that made things easier for all three of the involved nations in coming operations, even the USSA. "On your six, comrade," Vale said coldly.

-x-x-x-

(24 July CE 72, 0600 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Oruga wasn't entirely sure how last night had ended, but he had a suspicion that it had ended on at least an honorable note, if not a gentleman's conduct. Flay didn't particularly strike him as the type to willingly give herself to just anyone, even when drunk, and they both had ended the night severely sauced. For all that Oruga had fantasized long and hard about the form under the clothing, he knew he had not had eyes on that form as of this morning.

His morning started, oddly enough, hanging over the edge of the bathtub and next to the toilet. How, when, why he was involved with the bathtub, he did not recall. Still, it was a simple task to get up and quick-shower while Flay remained asleep, this despite the nasty cramps in his back from sleeping half in a bathroom fixture and half on the bathroom floor. Once the shower was accomplished, Oruga found himself in the kitchen to make breakfast as Flay took over the bathroom for her own needs.

Oruga figured if he was going to do meals here, he would have to actually get her something decent to cook. Thankfully, the Multimage Armed Forces were not stingy on the pay grades for veteran Gundam pilots, and he had ready access to the military PX (**P**ost e**X**change) which had a somewhat different selection of available goods. At the least, she had a package of frozen sausage to use, and a partial of hash browns for something to cook. As he fired up the griddle for the coming cooking, Oruga found himself singing and humming one of his favorite songs the Magi had instilled to himself and Shani. His humming was likely just as off-key as would be his singing, but it was a catchy tune.

It was to the sound of his humming the guitar solo in the song that Flay emerged from the shower and came to the kitchen partition counter. " '..._Facing blood, facing pain, have our brothers died in vain? Many lives has been lost on the way_'...whoa," he concluded his recital of a Sabaton song.

"Oh, come on," Flay groused. "I dress skimpy and you don't comment, I practically armor up and you're drooling. Why?" She indicated her 'armor' of a heavy bathrobe and hair towel.

"I'm immune to scantily-dressed ladies," Oruga admitted as he turned over the four hash-browns. "They're freaking everywhere down planetside, especially in cities near the major military bases. Corps Whores, we used to call 'em. Looking at that stuff gets old, leaves nothing to the imagination. Now, dressing like that," and he waved a spatula at her; "That leaves plenty of guesswork, and the guesswork is the fun part."

For Flay, his answer was not entirely unexpected, but the detail work involved was more than a bit surprising to her. "Oh, really," she half-squeaked. "Well, then, what's your guess?" she asked.

"In what way am I guessing?" Oruga asked as he continued to flip the breakfast sausages.

"Oh, basic numbers," Flay prompted. "You know, height, weight, bust, waist, hips," she fronted as a test.

"English or metric?" Oruga asked.

"English, I never did like any of my numbers in metric. Always makes me feel blocky for some reason."

"Oh, I'd say five foot one, edging five foot two, about 120 pounds or so, 34 on the bust, 26 waist, 36 hips?"

Flay was silent for almost ten seconds. "How much have you been spying on me?"

"What?" Oruga asked in immediate response, then realized what she meant. "Holy shit, did I get that close?"

"Your bust guess is a little low, and your weight guess is off by fifteen," she admitted. "Everything else is close enough to be less than a rounding error."

"Damn, I didn't think I'd get that close on my first shot. Whoa," he grimaced. "Pays to be good at spur-of-the-moment estimation, on and off the battlefield, I guess."

Flay was reminded of the title of an ancient song, _Love Is A Battlefield_, from centuries ago. Why the name came to her mind when Oruga mentioned estimation on the battlefield she had no idea, but the thought wouldn't let her go. After a moment, she decided on a different tack: "Don't burn the sausage," she said in her best impression of a drill instructor.

"Yes ma'am," Oruga replied immediately.

"We'll start our 'homework' over breakfast. What will we need?"

"Map of the colony and a large notepad, preferably a legal pad," Oruga said immediately. "No eggs?"

"Nope, whole colony is short on eggs right now," Flay said. "And I need some eggs for a cake."

"I can probably get a half-dozen through the PX, maybe," Oruga admitted. "They're a rationed item, active-duty forces have first dibs on anything like that the military stocks up on."

"Which means you get first crack, right?"

"Nope, the _Dominion_ is listed as a semi-active formation. I get second crack."

"Do you get anything in that position?" Flay asked, then belatedly realized how her question could be misinterpreted.

"Oh, second crack has its advantages," Oruga replied pensively. "Okay, the ground rules for the enemy side of the ambush are simple: close-quarters area with decent concealment, minimize civilian casualties, minimize enemy escape routes."

"We cram the BC plan into that kind of restriction?" Flay looked at Oruga sideways while shaking out some pepper onto her breakfast.

"Commander's orders," Oruga shrugged as he served Flay a load of sausage and hash browns.

"Not going to work. They'll want something with either ample escape routes or better civilian presence to make it more public. They'll probably try for both."

"Okay, we give them one of the above. Which would you prefer?"

"How vicious am I allowed to be on this one?" Flay asked bluntly.

"The Century Commander wants them dead or captured; every one of them, no exceptions. Think you can go there?"

Flay nodded, considering the parameters of the mission and good places to put the ambush within those parameters. GARM fit all of the parameters to a tee, but Blue Cosmos knew that operating within easy line of sight to GARM was a death-trap of the highest order. Similarly, the Administration Building was also a death-trap, mainly because the Marines had turned the office building across the street into an urban warfare training center; seven stories of fire and brimstone for anyone dumb enough to enter without permission. The civilian or industrial ports were possible, but without any particularly good excuse for Calamira to go somewhere it was not a plausible ruse.

Her eyes crossed over the Mexican restaurant she and Oruga favored for the cheap burritos and good margaritas. After a few moments considering it, she smiled; it did not take civilians out of the equation, but it did meet the other criteria – and it made the whole operation a public beat-down of Blue Cosmos.

"You know that Mex place we like?" Flay asked.

"Oh?" Oruga responded. It took him a few seconds to understand. "Oh, yeah," he said. "The rooftops of that area would be perfect vantage points for snipers."

"No, I was thinking ground-based hit, with the rooftops being used by the Marines to terminate them."

"High-ground for the Marines? I like it."

Flay was silent for a moment as she began writing up her operational concept. "Are you angry with me?" she asked after a moment.

Her question threw Oruga off a bit. "Why should I be?"

"Because I was Blue Cosmos. Because I thought that killing Mendel would help bring peace to the world. Because I sided with the dipshits that tortured you, Shani, and Clotho. 'Cause I unknowingly allowed the Earth Alliance to refit their nuclear missiles with N-Jammers, and nearly allowed them to wipe out the human race. Or for just being a sneaky bitch about it. You have more than a few reasons, take your pick."

"Angry at you, no," Oruga responded calmly. "At Blue Cosmos, hell yes. Because they screwed Shani, Clotho and myself pretty hard, and because they manipulated you like they did, manipulated you and thousands more into thinking a race war is the answer. It ain't," he picked up her note-tablet and read it over. "It's a start. We'll have to scout out the place."

"Works for me," Flay answered, relieved that Oruga was not angry with her.

"What matters is you've seen through their lies and illusions," Oruga continued his answer. "We'll work out the rest."

-x-x-x-

(24 July CE 72, 1515 Hours Lima (Local) time)  
(Manaus, Brazil)

Sophie expected a lot out of her job, but running around the streets of Manaus trying to evade a Blue Cosmos hit squad was not part of it.

Less than fifteen minutes ago, she had been with four others. As of right now, she was the only survivor, and a lucky one at that. The machine gun work that had cut down her team was expert, at the least the equivalent of trained army and certainly not the prototypical terrorists anyone had expected.

It had begun as a supposed business meeting between representatives of Peru Armor (the manufacturers of the revolutionary Southern Cross MBT) and Blue Cosmos, ostensibly for selling them some of the SRM-6 launchers for guerrilla attacks. With a maximum range of 1.2 kilometers (900 meters effective range) and hellishly powerful missiles, the SRMs looked like a wet dream to the Blue Cosmos personnel. Mounting a SRM-6 to a pintle mount on a flatbed truck would make them mobile and very dangerous to anyone they wanted to use them on.

The true purpose of the meeting was to gather evidence against and faces of Blue Cosmos. With hard intel, the USSA Ministry of Intelligence and Operations could begin to compromise and eventually eradicate Blue Cosmos operations in the USSA. The deal would have cemented evidence of the presence of Blue Cosmos and their intentions, and more importantly would have 'shopped' an entire BC Infiltration cell, but the evidence was now on four dead bodies in a warehouse six blocks behind her and fading into the distance.

Why they had ambushed the 'representatives' was not clear to Sophie. If they wanted the SRMs, if they wanted to really massacre the Coordinators and coordinator-protectors in droves, killing the people who (supposedly) would have enabled a lot of casualties was not particularly wise. Unless...

"Did _we_ get shopped?" she asked the ground below her in panting breaths as she paused behind a dumpster to catch her breath. The commercial dumpster served three or four stores in the area, and she was leaning against the wall of a brick retail shop building to rest before she continued running.

"Kid, in here!"

Sophie looked over the guy in question, and was rightly shocked by what she saw. The nearby storefront in question was run by someone she had only seen on the news, a former (or present) Magi mobile army officer, complete with silver node rings (2) on the back of his hands and the distinctive face tattoos. "Um," she hesitated.

"You are running from someone," he guessed. "_Comen_," and he waved her inside his small store. Sophie was mildly reluctant to follow, but she knew that she ran a better chance of evading if she took refuge somewhere out of the way instead of continually trying to run.

"You're risking yourself like this, sir," Sophie insisted.

"_Nien_," he replied stiffly. "I risked more, faster, every time I took my Dire Wolf into battle," he insisted as the two entered the store.

Sophie had the strange feeling that stepping into the building was almost like stepping into a different world. Most of the store's material was actually fairly common fare, though she was expecting a lot more exotic material. There were some unique objects, model kits for some of the Magi's more instantly famous mobile army units, such as the Fireball Aerofighter and Blood Asp Omnimech, units rendered famous by defeating the Earth Alliance mobile forces in droves. Most of the content was simple clothing and household goods, an odd combination for a storefront in an economically hard area.

Still, the pair of kids debating which model to purchase first among a set of five Omnimech models was evidence enough that he was getting business. A trio of teenage girls were also hanging around the clothing racks, debating the solvency of bras – which reminded Sophie that she could stand to take a gander at said rack, her bras were getting a little worn and not many were to be had on retail racks around Manaus.

Apparently, the Mechwarrior noticed her point of gaze. "Clothing of all kinds is hard to come by in South America, due to 'export delays' in the Earth Alliance. Of course, the Nylon or Tecron insulation sheath around wires makes a good fabric when rebuilt as thread."

Sophie knew this, and one of her unstated missions was to capture some of the near-mythical nanomachines and instructions on how to use them properly. Even though Mendel (and by extension the mythical-scale Multimage Empire) were nominally allies of the United States of South America, the necessities of clandestine operations still applied to them, and would naturally apply to the USSA just the same in relation to Mendel. They would have spies lurking among the USSA populace at all levels, aiming for an intelligence picture of their erstwhile allies, and the USSA would have (or try to have) spies amongst Mendel. It was how the game was played, even among allies.

She continued to look around the shop, and when she saw the main display case and cash register, her heart skipped a beat when her eyes crossed two things. The first was a large color poster of Lacus Clyne and next to it a poster of a girl that could have been a dead ringer for Lacus, except for the noticeably larger bust. The second poster was of a live nightclub scene, with the caption 'Meer Cambell and The Kilo Band, Mendel Colony, T and E Nightclub, March CE 72' toward the bottom edge. To accompany the poster, small audio discs of a common media format were on a rack next to the poster bin, just as audio discs were available of some of Lacus Clyne's music nearby her posters. The obvious gaps in the audio racks told that they were selling better than Sophie would have given credit. It was proof enough of Lacus Clyne's international fame that even a somewhat-knockoff of her was selling fast in international markets.

The second thing to cause her heart to skip was a large plaque on the wall next to the cash register, inscribed with what she knew to be a Magi Marine joke of the highest order:

THIS IS MY PROBLEM SOLVER.

(A large, double-barreled and magazine fed shotgun was hung on the plaque. Sophie recognized it as the MDBS-08C, a heavy close-quarters 'room cleaner' favored by the Marines.)

THERE ARE MANY PROBLEM SOLVERS IN EXISTENCE, BUT THIS ONE IS UNIQUELY MINE.

THIS PROBLEM SOLVER EXCELS AT UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL 'SHOUTING MATCHES'.

YOU CAN TAKE A NUMBER FROM THE PROBLEM SOLVER, BUT IT WILL ONLY GIVE YOU ONE NUMBER: 2 TIMES 10-GAUGE.

THIS PROBLEM SOLVER IS KNOWN TO WORK ON ALL HUMANS, ALL HUMANOIDS, AND 80 PERCENT OF NON-HUMAN BIOLOGICS IN EXISTENCE. THIS INCLUDES **YOU**.

IF YOU SEE MY OWNER GRAB HIS PROBLEM SOLVER, YOU ARE ADVISED TO STICK YOUR HEAD BETWEEN YOUR LEGS AND KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE.

THE FLY THAT LANDED ON MY RECEIVER WILL BE DEALT WITH...EVENTUALLY.

IF YOU RUN WHILE MY OWNER IS LOADING HIS PROBLEM SOLVER, YOU WILL ONLY DIE TIRED AND YOUR FRIEND WILL BE PICKING BUCKSHOT OUT OF HIS ASS FOR WEEKS.

IF YOU SUPPORT A MARINE, FEEL FREE TO STAND BEHIND HIM. IF YOU DO NOT SUPPORT THE MARINES, FEEL FREE TO STAND IN FRONT OF THEM AND ACT LIKE GOOD TARGETS.

HAVE A NICE DAY.

"This is...exceptional," she said, taking a quick look around the entire store.

"It is a good retirement," the Mechwarrior said pointedly.

"Why this? Why here?" Sophie asked as the old Mechwarrior took position behind the counter to check out a customer.

"I have always wanted to own a small store, and the USSA is probably going to quickly outstrip Mendel and Orb for growth opportunity in the next year." The transaction was quick and professional, something Sophie had problems imagining of a former Mechwarrior. "Now, you need to lay low until your 'friends' crawl back into the woodwork. Is there someone you need to contact to confirm you are still alive?"

"Yeah, my watch supervisor at..."

"At your agency," the Mechwarrior completed the thought for her when she faltered. "Your eyes say you think someone in the chain is compromised. Which agency?"

"If I say, will you tell nobody?" Sophie replied, somehow feeling at ease discussing it with an old Magi Mechwarrior.

"Aff," he replied. "I swear a rede to it."

They were interrupted before Sophie could continue. "Mister Mechwarrior, which of these would win in a straight fight?" and the two kids previously looking at models held up two kits.

"Oh, I believe this one would win," and the Mechwarrior tapped on the top of the box for the Timber Wolf Omnimech, in favor of the Cauldron-Born Omnimech model the other kid was holding.

"Would this beat Ed The Ripper in a fair fight?"

"Oh," the Mechwarrior grimaced at the immediate follow-up question. "I'd say maybe, but not likely. The Timber Wolf pilot would have to be real good, and Ed Harrelson would have to be fighting at extreme range to win; if Ed gets close, or starts close-in, Ed wins."

His answer was enough to get a smile from the kid. They chatted quickly in Spanish for a moment, then the two put the model of the Timber Wolf on the table, followed by enough cash between them to make the purchase. The old Mechwarrior executed the sale, bagged the model, and even threw in a jar of black paint for them to add highlights to it with.

"Now, about who to contact to tell you are still alive?" the Mechwarrior asked.

Sophie was very thankful to the kids for the interruption to collect her thoughts. "Ministry of Agriculture, Office of Foreign Sales," she provided the common cover organization for the MIO. "My Watch Supervisor is Emilio Rojas."

"Got it," the Mechwarrior answered. He picked up a phone and dialed a number from memory, which caused confusion and a hint of panic in her. "Star Colonel Fellen, it's Gustav," he said to the other caller. A pause of a second; "Heh, business is booming; I sell more bras in a week than you shell out autocannon rounds in a year!" another pause, then some chuckling from the old Mechwarrior. "Yeah, I'll need to open up some more import and export lanes, I have a few contacts looking to send material up for processing and resale, and I need more bras! Well, not for me, mind you, I'm keeping my pectorals in shape, you old lazy dawg!" Another fit of chuckling followed.

Sophie cringed when the conversation turned serious. "Okay, I'm calling because I had an unusual one wander into my purview just a few minutes ago. One of the Ag Ministry employees got separated from her group, she was being chased by someone. Sounds like a soured deal for soybeans at a guess. Anyways, her 'sup' is Emilio Rojas. Have a direct line to him?" Another pause. "Give him a call, tell him she's down in my store right now. And tell him to check his department OpSec, she thinks there's a leak in the normal rat-lines. Yeah, soybeans are serious business, _amigo_, 'specially around here," another round of chuckles followed. "Stop by later tonight, I found a good micro-brew down the road from here. See ya later." The Mechwarrior hung up. "Old friend of mine. He'll get some word to your boss in about five minutes or so."

"Thank you."

"Now, are those two dickheads in suits and with radios your date?"

"Oh shit," she grumped.

Sophie reached for her own pistol, a sub-compact 9mm, as the two suited persons entered the store; she made fair to move away from the main counter and the old Mechwarrior as the two leered at her with hands in their overcoats. Their pistols came out just shortly after hers came clear of the holster in her waistband; it became a race to see who would get sights on target first. She never saw what the old Mechwarrior did or was doing, as her mind filtered out everything not pertaining to her present engagement.

Sophie's extensive paramilitary training kicked in, running her hands and mind on autopilot to try and outpace the threat in putting ordinance on target. Her first pair of shots were just as her MIO instructor trained her, two shots to the sternum and the all-important heart behind it; without that vital organ, the left-most enemy went down without firing a shot. She traversed her aimpoint as her body crouched to a kneel, then fired a pair of shots as the enemy began to recenter on her. She saw both shots hit where she wanted them, and she saw him flinch, but he did not begin the expected fall. His aimpoint was drawn off target by the hits, though, and his shot hammered her in the right shoulder.

Sophie slammed into the ground, now devoid of control of her right arm and with it her pistol. The entire right half of her body was on fire with pure pain, the result of having her shoulder blade savaged by a large-caliber pistol round. It didn't take more than a few seconds for the Blue Cosmos trooper to close on her and step over her to straddle her. "Body armor, bitch," he said with surprising clarity; even with her ears ringing from the shots taken and her body wracked with pain, she could still clearly understand him. From where he stood, she could see the lower edge of his concealable body armor under his shirt, and could see through the holes in his shirt to the armor itself.

**WRAAM WRAAM.** The two shots were far different from anything else she had heard in her life, and when she looked to her right at the main counter she recognized the most god-awful large pistol in the hand of the old Mechwarrior. On top of his weapon's frame was something she had seen only in the possession of Special Forces personnel, an extremely-costly Reflex Sight System. As she watched, he aimed down to where the shots had driven the BC operative to the ground, and fired a third shot from the weapon; the half-meter tongue of flame belied the sheer scale of his pistol's cartridge, as well as finished the job of temporarily deafening her. "Fifty Action Express, bitch," she barely heard the old Mechwarrior insult the downed foe.

When she looked left to the spot where the Blue Cosmos terrorist landed, she was highly aghast at the result. His left cheek had been staved in by the sheer impact of the shot, and not much remained of the back of his head. The puddle of blood expanding from the gaping hole in the back of his cranium left plenty of testament that he died immediately from his wounds. She was not able to recognize more about him before her mind began wandering, a sign of blood loss.

She could barely hear the sound of sirens in the distance before her vision began losing color and her mind began losing lucidity.

-x-x-x-

(26 July CE 72, 1845 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, Luine's Restaurant, Back Meeting Hall)

Flay made sure that once she planted the 'spike' (radio transmitter bug), she stayed away from it. Given that nobody from the entire BC section had been to this restaurant, they figured it clean in terms of espionage against their 'sacred mission' (their words, not Flay's opinion). Thus there wasn't even a cursory inspection for bugs or anything else in the area, and thus Oruga would hear the briefing without issue.

Once orders were placed, the doors to the private hall were closed and the meeting began in earnest. Flay looked down the length of the table and saw eight men and women of Blue Cosmos. After a moment, an evil smile crossed her lips when she realized she was looking at a minimum of six dead men, even though they erroneously thought they could win against Mendel in any fashion. _Hell hath no fury like a nation scorned_, she thought with an ironic echo, which only caused her to smile even more deeply and savagely.

"Something has the cat in a good mood," the BC Ops Cell leader said wryly, looking at her from the far side of the table.

Flay put her best masque of Blue Cosmos on; this was not a time to over-awe them, it was a time to be professional and succinct – even given her intention of knifing them all in the back. She didn't know specifically what the Century Commander was planning, but it was likely not going to be pretty for them.

"You received a stand-to order and acknowledgment a few days ago, yes?" Flay asked directly.

"Yeah," he answered. Flay considered that his death would be less than a real loss to anyone, given his foul attitude and reputation. The cell leader was said to be vicious beyond compare and enjoyed knifing them to death after he had 'his fun' with them. Killing him would take one more depraved bisexual off the streets, no measure of loss to Flay's way of thinking.

"Good. Now is the time I tell you what's been cooking, and what your true purpose is. Hope your life insurance is paid up, people; this one is going to be the singular most risky thing you will ever do in your lives, though the payout will be immense if we succeed, both for you, your survivors if the worst happens, and for the cause itself."

"What are we gonna do that is that important?" the lead asked, surprised that any one mission could be that important...or dangerous.

"We are going to indirectly enable a clean nuclear attack scenario against both Mendel and the PLANTs, by way of taking out one person."

"Calamira Weste," the lead said with a smile. "You have a pattern on her?"

"Better than that," Flay answered with a quick smile. "I have clear intel on where she will be in four days, and I have a good, solid ambush plan to use on her."

Flay stood and walked over to the tables surrounding the main table they were using, and from each collected some of the napkin dispensers, salt-and-pepper sets, condiment bottles and silverware sets. These she set up in the main table as a field-expedient map of the ambush area, using the salt and pepper sets as buildings, the napkin dispensers as 'high rise buildings' and silverware as low-level objects (flower planters, benches, etc). Eight ketchup bottles stood to the side, awaiting placement.

"This is the restaurant block in Commercial Three. This is the commercial harbor edge, the main attraction here is the Mexican place, _El Cactus_ is the name."

"Cheesy as fuck, but good cooking," the elder of the three ladies in the unit said.

"30 June, err July, slightly before 1700 hours, Calamira Weste will be arriving here by her usual chauffeured APC routine, as she has a meeting with undisclosed parties at the Cactus. I have already determined that trying to get her in transit from the APC to the restaurant, or inside the restaurant, is not possible. Outside the restaurant, she would have Marine escort and they will readily stop sniper or assault rifle attacks against her; those assault shields they carry can easily shield an unarmored human or three. And I have reason to suspect that the Marines can detect explosives in close, so you don't want to try bombing her in route."

"That's some serious business," the unit demo specialist groused.

"Getting weps inside the Cactus is not possible, either. You go inside with intent to harm her, she'll sense you coming and the Marines will disassemble you in the doorway with heavy weapons. She is the Strategic Psionic, all things considered."

"How is this going to work?"

"The lot of you were selected because each of you can attain a state of Zen that should be impossible for the Strategic Psionic to recognize as a threat. What you will do is simple: you will set up an ambush here," and she set three ketchup bottles at the entry area of the courtyard. "You will each carry satchel charges of Montana Brick explosives on short timers, five seconds tops from pull to detonate. An observer will be on the roof of this building here, and will radio you when the target arrives. When you receive the go-code, you will immediately arm your charges and throw them on or around the APC, in an attempt to destroy or cause the APC to roll. Even a good roll scenario, against these wheeled APCs, could kill or seriously injure her. A second group will also have charges as a backup in case the APC is not compromised. Once you send your charges, don't hang around; the Marines will not take lightly to striking down their one great spy asset."

"So we cook her inside her can, basically," the lead said. "That's a rough plan, honey, but I see how you've compensated for her being able to sense us. I like it already."

Flay nodded. "You will need to set up extraction on your own. Tomorrow, I suggest you all go over the attack site and make sure it's not being watched; nothing would ruin your day faster than to go for the attack and find a star or two of plain-clothes Marines waiting for you."

"Roger that," the recon specialist for the team said. "I'll go up top the building for the spotting part of the mission."

"Any questions?" Flay asked. There were none. "Good hunting," she said with a raised glass in toast. "Good hunting."

-x-x-x-

(28 July CE 72, 1020 Hours Lima (Local) time)  
(Western seas, Orb Territorial Waters)

" '_I won't pull the trigger, just to see you die! No humanity to make me come alive_!' " Star Colonel Mindy 'Cobalt' Gars sung in attempted harmony to the song she was listening to.

" '_I'm ticking like a timebomb, no fuse just guts and gore! Initiate the burning of the core_!' " Star Colonel Tim 'Bane' Meridas continued the song.

" '_I count down to zero, pull the trigger, no parole_!' " Star Captain Elena 'Isis' Waterly continued the singing on the open radio band, though in horridly off-key fashion. In the distance and unseen to the NEST operators, many a man and even a few women cringed at her rendition of the unit's new theme, such was the horror of her attempted singing.

" '_No mercy_!' " Star Captain Nikolai (more commonly called 'Hellion') chanted the lead in to the first refrain. Somehow, he managed to make the one line sound even more demonic than the original artists, at least to their commander's point of view.

" '_Have mercy_!' " the entire group of four singing officers chanted back, as was their part of this part of the song.

" '_NO MERCY ON YOUR SOUL_!' " Star Captain Nikolai finished up in preparation for the chorus, to which all four began:

" '_Kill by any means necessary! Win by any means necessary! Live by any means necessary! Die by any means necessary_!' " the four NEST officers managed to sing in reasonable apropos of the original band.

"All right, kids, drop your socks and grab your throttles," Star Colonel Tellos ('Kingfisher' to most others) ordered, though his orders only went out on the Mendel radio bands, not out for general consumption. "Why the hell I put up with your crappy singing, I do not know."

The song continued to broadcast, at least with only the original artist, thus giving no clue to the other side what was going on except that their commander had probably grown wearied of the unit's tone-deaf singing. The NEST team had found themselves taking a severe liking to Hammerfall as a band and to the song _By Any Means Necessary_ individually as their theme song. Inside their minds, it applied to their unit by a wide margin, given they had any means necessary to complete their duties, up to and including one very powerful antimatter device to use on a target if necessary.

"Because you like it, you just won't admit it, old man," 'Cobalt' replied with a clearly alluring tone. The only response she received from Kingfisher was a snort.

"We have orders to deploy as of 25 minutes ago. I've been sitting here listening to your sorry tone-deaf asses to put some fear into their ranks, indecision at what we are doing," Kingfisher continued when his team was silent. "Now we give them some operational fear – and, of course, we complete our objective by any means necessary."

-x-

Commander Mu La Flaga frowned mightily. The military had some forces on Onogoro on maneuvers, and he had heard rumors that some of Mendel's black operations personnel were in town to cross-train with the Orb ODOT teams. That Mendel even had special operations types was enough to deepen his scowl, much less the constant rumbling of armor on the move.

In the past hour, the rumble of tanks and other armor – a unique sound if ever one in Existence – had become louder and louder; apparently, the Orb forces were rehearsing for another possible ground invasion against Onogoro. In the past ten minutes, the movement of armor had begun to rattle the pictures on the wall, with the worst being the picture of Siegel Clyne, Lacus' father. In the past five minutes, he thought he could hear the sound of their engines distinctly over the sound of the metal-segment tracks.

"Commander?" Mu flinched, still not used to being called by his rank by Lacus, though she did not normally do so unless she had something to discuss that was military-related.

He looked away from his paperwork and to the lady of the house, who was likely just waking up from her late night yesterday. Two of the kids had high temperatures, and she was first to volunteer to assist Reverend Malchio in keeping watch on them. "I know, they are close. And loud."

"Why would they be on the coastal road above us?" Lacus asked.

"Uh, what?" Mu asked, then leaned down and looked out his window and up to the coastal road just barely visible from his quarters. "Wow, an entire squadron, including artillery and ADA. They must expect something to be coming along."

"It's a drill, or so the radio says," Waltfeld said from behind Lacus, still standing in the hall and in the process of adjusting the wrist actuator on his new hand. "Paradrop and shore invasion defense drill."

Mu nodded, almost content to return to his paperwork, except for a nagging feeling he had that was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

Kira Yamato was the next to congregate at the Commander's room. "You hear that?" he asked after a moment.

"Okay, I'm not going crazy," Captain Murrue Ramius asked from next to Waltfeld. "I'm hearing it too."

"Mobile Suit jet engines," Waltfeld said. "Big ones."

The sound of the Linear Artillery units above them firing their cannons – live shells at that – was enough to cause the myriad group to go to the seaside balcony and see what was happening. It did not take them long to figure out what the artillery was firing at.

Waltfeld whistled in shock. "Look at that rooster tail! Something big is comin' our way!"

Murrue was last out onto the balcony, though she had brought binoculars for everyone to see better at range. Four pairs of eyes settled on the object headed for them, and immediately all four gasped in shock. "That's—that's—"

"A Mendel NEST Gundam," Kira said coldly. "I have to stop it before—"

Waltfeld used his new hand to grab the back of Kira's shirt. "Don't get hasty, Kira. This is supposed to be a drill. Look up and left," and Waltfeld indicated the coastal road area, but ahead and behind of the formation of artillery and tanks. Large, white-and-red bullseyes were positioned on mobile trailers to serve as target analogs for the incoming pilot.

Kira nodded his acceptance, but he also had something of a point to make. "If they're simulating a nuclear blitz on Orb, then I'm on the playing field by default. This is my home, and I will stop him."

-x-

"Pithy, pithy, pithy," Kingfisher groused as the Orb artillery forces tried zeroing in on him at range. Their first barrage was usually close, but after the first few shells began landing he immediately shifted course, speed and even altitude to prevent easy hits. The tank gunners would assuredly have an easier go of it, but by the time Star Colonel Tellos got close enough for the tank gunners to take their shots, he would have already obliterated them.

On the other hand, he knew that it would only two or three good hits – or one lucky hit – to ruin his day. Even Gundams like the Physalis he was piloting had grave limitations in battle against conventional armor, more so against conventional armor equipped with coil guns (gauss rifles) or rail guns.

At five kilometers, he saw the streak of missiles go up into the air – antitank missiles from infantry units or light antitank-equipped vehicles, these were specially designed to not strike the thirty million C-bill Gundam they were shot at, but would still count as a valid strike if they got that close without an intercept. Tellos gave them no such shrift; when the missiles approached within 2 kilometers, he unloaded fifty rounds of 60mm Canister CIWS to intercept them at range. None of the missiles got close.

Even as he intercepted the missiles, his beam machine gun was at work on the targets for the ground units. On practice setting, the Beam MG was enough to scorch the paint of the targets supplied to him for kill purposes, clear indication that he did not miss. Four quick bursts and the direct threat (the main battle tanks) were down. Four more bursts and the artillery units were downed before they could begin firing in direct-fire mode. All that remained was the infantry and the light targets – ADA guns, light AT trucks, and infantry.

He jumped his MS well clear of a large structure on the beachfront, and made sure he cleared the power lines that fed it by a good fifty meters. "Hrm, couple of hotties on that balcony. Need to review that footage when I get back to base," Kingfisher groused as he landed his MS in a clear area. As he passed over the building, his low-end cameras had tracked steady on the building and its residents, which meant that if anyone had open cleavage he would probably have a good view on tape.

As he turned to face the remaining light targets, his left hand nicked the external loudspeaker button. "Guns, guns, guns with canister rounds! You crunchies are administratively dead!" There was little question that 60mm worth of 1cm steel balls would tear apart anything less than an infantry fighting vehicle. Given that he was using actual rounds in his guns for purposes of weapon intercepts, he used a radio call instead of the actual ordinance.

"Kingfisher, training command, your call is confirmed. Continue your operation," Colonel Kisaka ordered.

"Aff, Colonel," Star Colonel Tellos replied evenly. Without further word, he turned toward the interior of Orb and the Military Operations Command Center, then fired up his main jets and began moving again, this time with the added challenge of dodging civilian structures, natural obstacles, and utility poles and lines. The combination of hazards made for what appeared to be 'bunny-hopping' at range, so little was he able to stay to the ground in these environs.

The proximity warning system activated, clear notice that he had someone trying to approach his rear. A look at his rear monitors was ample evidence as to what was coming from behind. "Aww, shit. This is gonna suck."

"Kingfisher, Cobalt, on site at the objective location. What is your status?"

"Waypoint Charlie, about to be engaged and mulched by the Freedom," Kingfisher admitted.

"Put your hammer down, old man," Bane said. "Freedom is fast, but your Physalis should be able to pace him long enough to get to the objective building."

"Roger that," Kingfisher replied, never considering that his machine could outpace the Freedom at least in the short term.

"Bane reporting, on site at the objective. This place is nuked. Starting my moonwalk now."

"Isis, Hellion, report status," Kingfisher ordered.

"Hellion reporting, Isis was ambushed and eliminated by Astray units and the Justice." Star Colonel Tellos simply grunted at the news. A Gundam was good, and a Magi Gundam Pilot was even better, but every machine in Existence had practical limitations. Physalis were not designed to fight off large groups of enemies, as Isis unknowingly proved. "I am heavily engaged by Astray and one enemy Gundam at point Echo on my nav route. Push for the objective, boss, if we get three of five it is a partial victory!"

"Aff," Tellos replied. "_Vaya con Dios, amigo_, and take as many of them with you as possible." He switched off his radio broadcast. "Control System, estimate travel time until Freedom is in firing range."

"Ninety-six seconds on present heading and velocity," the 'Betty' voice of the computer replied. It was proof enough that Freedom was closing on him, just not as fast as the pilot would want to be.

"Control System, estimate flight time to objective point Foxtrot."

"Sixty-eight seconds," the computer answered coldly.

"I win by default, kid," Tellos said without transmitting it. The arrival would be close, but close only counted for the side that was using the nuclear weapons in this case.

"Kingfisher, Cobalt, have eyes on your flea." Three seconds later: "And I now have visual on you."

"Fly that ride like you stole it!" Bane said with a whoop and holler.

"C'mon, c'mon, hold together girl, hold together," Kingfisher urged his machine forward. "Almost there," he chanted almost in desperation as his hover jets passed from 'safe operating conditions' to 'caution lights' all across the board.

"Almost here, old man!" Cobalt half-squealed.

"Must go faster, must go faster," he chanted almost maniacally as his airspeed indicator started ticking down due to his overheating engines.

"Objective point Foxtrot is achieved," the Control System computer declared coldly once he passed the outer perimeter of the MOCC courtyard.

"Command, Kingfisher, reporting on-site at the nav. Three out of five ain't half bad." Kingfisher hauled back on his throttle before his hover jets began cooking and sputtering, an action which caused him to drop to the ground and skid sideways to a stop next to Bane.

"Confirmed, Kingfisher. Chalk this one up to Mendel. Freedom, Control, welcome to the exercise," Colonel Kisaka said. "Might as well land and standby for debrief."

"What?" Kira asked, shocked. "That's it?"

"Yes," Kisaka replied evenly. "Mendel's objective was just to get close enough to set off a basic nuke warhead in close proximity to our command center or important facilities, to simulate a terrorist attack on Orb with a high-speed machine."

Gundam Freedom came to a hover over the command center courtyard and slowly dropped to the ground. "Why do the Magi even have weapons like yours?" The question sounded half accusatory and half saddened to Kingfisher.

"Boss? You want to handle this one?" Bane asked.

"Simply stated, not everyone in existence is as reasonable as you or your girlfriend, or as honorable as Lady Cagalli and her boyfriend, or as dutiful as Colonel Kisaka and Captain Ramius," Star Colonel Tellos said deadpan. "There are people in Existence with enough twist in their mindset that they would nuke Orb clean off the map simply to test their latest batch of nuclear arms, verify they work as advertised. Those same people tend to hold off on 'testing' their arsenal when they know that their would-be victims can return the favor in spades."

Cobalt picked up where Kingfisher left off: "We are deterrent far more than we are weapons, and I much prefer scaring the shit out of enemies than I prefer annihilating them, but sometimes you have to decide to pay or play – and I don't like paying. Leaves a bad taste in the mouth."

"I've seen a hundred megs go off in atmosphere," Kingfisher said, referring to an instance where he had used an antimatter weapon on a target on a planet. "It wasn't pretty. We're trained to pull the trigger when necessary, but we train harder to teach our allies to find and stop these kinds of attacks. That's what we're here for."

-x-x-x-

(30 July CE 72, 1645 Hours UTC)  
(Commercial Block Three, Restaurant Plaza)

Flay had done her scouting, and determined that a new confection shop on the harbor side of the plaza would be the best place to watch the team get annihilated by the ambush certainly waiting for them. The location in question was close enough to the action to clearly see what happened, and far enough away that in theory there should be no problems with crossfire or ricochets or anything of that nature.

Oruga had also decided to take an interest in the operation, so she simply messaged him from her home terminal (not the laptop) and told him where to be. It didn't surprise her when she found him sitting at an exterior window in the place when she arrived. Unlike usual, he was not in his pilot's uniform, for which Flay was eternally thankful. The operation could be easily spooked and blown if they saw a Mage that was out of place. "Hey Flay, how goes?" he asked with what sounded like nonchalance to the untrained ear.

"Good, good," Flay said as she approached the table. "Didn't get me anything?" she asked with a small hint of pout.

"Didn't know what to get you. Just tell her to charge it back to me."

Flay nodded and smiled in response. She knew his manner of attitude could be easily exploited, but she did not intend to do so. Her days of using manipulation to achieve her ends were done, at least in the personal arena. Professional manipulation was another story entirely, and for that she intended to use any means necessary to achieve her objectives.

The confections shop was actually not all that large in terms of shops or restaurants in the area, but the display cases were certainly full of sweets of many kinds beyond what Flay had a taste for. How the owner had managed to acquire such a selection of everything from almond bark to Zingers, Flay could only begin to guess. The back area of the store was the typical grocery store shelving, though not as well stocked as the baked goods display cases around the collection of cooking and mixing machines.

"Welcome to Strobel Confections, how may I—" the proprietress stopped mid-sentence when she realized who she was addressing. "Flay?"

"This is yours, Hilde?" Flay asked the 'cake girl' that had prepared the excellent strawberry cake for her in weeks past.

"Yeah," she replied as she leaned forward on the display case back. Flay couldn't help but notice that even with gravity's help, Hilde almost counted as pettanko (3), a strange physical status for a Coordinator. She considered it just another sign that Coordinators weren't the all-inclusive perfect nightmares that Blue Cosmos thought they were. "I figure if I want to get ahead with my life, I need to start getting ahead in business sense."

"Nice," Flay said. "Braver than I, at the least. I'm still working a desk for someone else."

Hilde chuckled. "No shame in that, girl. This, I've only been open a week and it's a real nightmare some days. On the other hand, business is very good, especially with tourists."

"Tourists?" Flay stammered. She never really considered the possibility that anyone would actually want to tour Mendel, as there was not much of anything really culturally or entertainingly significant in the colony.

"Yeah, tourists, I was just as shocked when I realized there is a lot of 'em around. You don't think about it often, mainly because anyone you see around is likely a fresh-face immigrant, but there's a lot of people who just want to see the guys who stopped the nuclear holocaust."

"Oh," Flay squeaked. It had been a very significant event at the time, but for her it was just as readily shoved out of the back of her mind during those days of her Blue Cosmos training. It went without saying that for the bulk of people the iconic image of seeing the _Mjolnr_ take a nuke in the side, in defense of a colony they had never seen the inside of, was a big fucking deal. Not far behind was the sight of the GENESIS nuclear laser being 'disassembled' by antimatter weapons, the destroyed weapon being a device so terrifying that treaties were now being proposed to prevent it ever being developed again.

"So, what'll it be, girl?"

"That a milkshake machine?" Flay pointed to a machine that fit the bill, but which she had not seen anywhere in the colony before.

"Yeah, one of three on the colony," Hilde replied with a smile. "Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, or a swirl-combo of any of the three."

"Oh man," Flay groused. "I have to try it. Give me a strawberry-choco swirl. Sounds real good," she said with clearly high expectations in her tone of voice.

"Bring it out to you here in a few," Hilde said.

Flay wandered back over to the table with Oruga and took a seat. "Nothing's changed?"

"As far as I know, everything is going down as planned." Flay sighed. "I know you didn't want to tell me earlier, but what is waiting for them?"

"The APC will be swapped out in transit, highwayman's switch with four others, to prevent a tail from identifying the switch. The APC that arrives here will have a point of Armored Marines in it."

"Ouch," Flay said.

"There also should be some other Marines in the area, for security and perimeter detail. They won't be escaping."

"Good," Flay said.

"The boss said you are to be 'disappeared' after this happens. Tonight, around 2300, expect to have your door kicked in by some Marines. Call it part intelligence roll-up and part stealth for getting you in the door. Once we pull you in, we give you a thorough debrief and then you're off to naval warfare OJT."

"Naval Warfare OJT?" Flay asked.

"You were on the _Archangel_ before, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't do much while I was on it except almost get my ex-boyfriend killed," Flay said. Oruga cocked an eyebrow in response. "Long story, Oruga. I'll need to tell you, just...not now."

"Fair 'nuff," Oruga replied. "You said you want outside the grasp of Blue Cosmos. Easiest way to accomplish that is to get you out in the fleet, where Blue Cosmos has no reach and the Earth Alliance regulars are veritable target practice for us. We make it look like you were pulled in as part of the intelligence roll-up, and you 'disappear' into the maw of the machine. The _Dominion_ gets a new RIO (4), you get your clean escape from Blue Cosmos, Blue Cosmos thinks we quietly killed off an otherwise 'secure' intelligence asset, which should put the fear of the Gods into their spines when they come back for round five, and I don't have to worry about my girlfriend getting knifed or shot in the back."

"Wow," Flay said.

"Of course, if you say 'no' to going naval, we have a few other options, but none of the secondary plans are clean in the sense of being outside Blue Cosmos reach. Ultimately it is your call."

"I'll think hard about it," Flay said. "I'll probably go Naval, but I'll need a little time to think."

Her shake delivered, Flay and Oruga settled back to watch the fireworks.

-x-

Randy sat on the park bench in a state of zen trance, thinking of nothing, centering on nothing, his mind mobile and his expression blank. The silence of thought, of will, was the necessary state of mind to fool the Strategic Psionic. Or so they thought. To be completely honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure what manner of capability the Strategic Psionic truly had, and this guessing could be completely wrong.

His cell phone rang, the signal for the attack to commence. The sound of three other cell phones ringing was also a nifty secondary indicator, but in the end the net result was achieved. Four persons snapped out of a zen trance and immediately went to work as they had planned, rehearsed over the intervening days. This was the moment of transition, from when Blue Cosmos stopped taking it in the ass and started delivering their own butt-fuckings.

Or so they thought.

Randy saw Nicholas heave his duffel toward the stopped APC, and the bomb landed just shy of the front-right steering tire. Randy tossed his next, followed by the unit's Amazon representative, Gina. The fourth bomb from the first group was 'Speedy' John Villest, whose toss was distant enough and accurate enough to put the duffel on top of the APC.

"GO!" Randy shouted as his hand went to the radio detonator control he fashioned out of a model race-car control. As he spun around and began moving away from the APC, he pulled the safety pin from the control and prepared to give the trigger a squeeze, but before he could he saw movement on top of the dessert store. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at, but the sight made his blood run cold. "SNIPER! AMBU—" he shouted, his second word cut off by a shot to the face with a small-bore rifle.

The remote detonator struck the ground, and due to the improvised nature of the device, sent the trigger signal to the four detonators. The one on the roof of the APC did not fire, due to faulty wiring. The three that landed nearby, two to the right of the APC and one to the left, blew and caused the APC to overturn to the left.

-x-

"Hilde! Get down! Terrorist attack!" Flay shouted as Oruga upended their table to interpose it between further blasts and themselves. Their desserts were already trashed from the fracturing glass of the windows, but that was less of a concern now that they had an idea how bad the bombs really were.

"These things are fucking powerful!" Oruga shouted. "How the hell did they get those bombs in here?"

"I dunno, and I don't want to know!" Flay shouted her response as another bomb went off, this one on the far side of the plaza.

-x-

Gina had dropped to the ground as soon as Randy shouted about the sniper. Her reaction saved her from being shot, but now put her at the mercy of the ongoing battle. She looked up to the backup blasters in time to watch as her girlfriend Misty went down in a splay-legged heap, four rounds to the chest from two snipers ending her life in a hurry. Her duffel bag detonated a second later, tearing the face off an office supplies store and assuredly injuring or killing at least three persons inside. It took her a few moments to find Minh, the architect of the radio detonator systems used by the initial wave of bombs, though when she did put eyes on him it was just fast enough to see the last life fade from his eyes; a shotgun blast had torn his left side and chest to shreds.

The only one still standing was Carlie, and she wasn't so much standing as she was running, or trying to run. It wasn't enough, however, to outpace the sniper she faced off against; a large-caliber rifle struck her just below the knee and removed the entirety of her left lower leg from the knee down. Gina cringed at the anguished scream from the nineteen-year-old girl that had been crippled by the strike, but she outright shit herself when she saw Carlie reach to the end of the duffel bag and yanked the pull cord for the fuse detonator. Gina was easily close enough to be killed by the blast just the same as Carlie, and the dessert shop next to where she fell to a stop was not going to survive the blast unscathed.

"OH SHIT! RUN!" Someone shouted from inside the now-windowless dessert shop. Gina caught a glimpse of two persons running away from an overturned table, and the lady of the pair she could easily identify as Flay Allster. She chalked it up to bad fieldcraft, wanting to see the outcome of the demise of the Strategic Psionic when the bombs—

The last bomb killed her mid-thought by way of caving in the top of her skull and disrupting the bulk of her brain from pressure trauma. Her body was flung end-over-end twice, ironically landing next to the APC she initially targeted for destruction. Carlie was sundered by the blast, parts of her body being distributed as far as seven blocks up-spin from the point of detonation. The only one of the unit that survived was the scout on the rooftop of _El Cactus_.

-x-

"HILDE!" Flay jumped across the counter and waist-clinch tackled the confectionary proprietress to the ground. If, as she guessed, that was a duffel full of Montana Brick, the blast wave would tear apart the store in a hurry. Everyone that wanted to live through the ensuing deomition had to be down and behind cover to survive.

"Stay down! Stay down!" Oruga shouted as he joined the two ladies behind the display cases.

"What's happening?" Hilde wailed.

Flay almost didn't hear the blast as much as she simply felt it. The pressure wave was significant, even behind several layers of cover, especially in the sheer impact of the blast wave as it passed by her. The explosion tore through what remained of the glass in the facility, easily shredding the remaining windows and even the glass fronts of two of the cases nearby. Being so close to the building itself, the blast easily tore through the brick columns of the front facade and immediately caused the front (customer) area to collapse, with threat of the remainder of the building collapsing.

Of all things redistributed by the blast, the table that Flay and Oruga had been sitting at became the most immediately problematic of all. It had been ripped roughly in half and sent in two directions by the blast; one of the table halves had been sent through the ladies' restroom door and embedded itself in an outside wall. The second half of the table was sent along the ground speedily, where it slammed into the display case that Flay, Oruga, and the shop proprietress were hiding. Though the display case stopped it from getting to the three hiding behind, the cabinet was shoved out of alignment nearly a half-meter, all towards the screeching Hilde and a rather stunned Flay.

"Oh my GOD!" Hilde shouted. "No more! No more!" Flay barely heard over the sound of the ringing in her ears.

Oruga didn't say anything so much as he simply grabbed Flay by the back of her shirt and pants and hauled her up off the ground, roughly tossing her in the direction of the back room and the assured rear or emergency exit to the facility. She had to stop and catch herself on the side of the milkshake machine once closer to standing, given her equilibrium was somewhat screwed up from the bomb blasts. Hilde, who received the same treatment, needed no further cadging to evict herself from the building. She didn't stop as Flay had to regain her balance, a fateful choice.

Flay stood up properly and moved to join Hilde, but was stopped by an instinct. Hilde continued forward, however, and only partially managed to avoid the descending structural member before it hit her. Flay was thankful that she couldn't hear the sickening sound of bone breaking as Hilde was first struck by the glancing blow of the ton-plus beam, then the sound of Hilde screeching as she bounced off the milkshake machine. Oruga looked at the new blockage, looked toward the front of the building and then to the roof area, and waved Flay over to where the proprietress landed.

Oruga crouched down next to the semi-conscious Hilde, and made a quick set of hand gestures to indicate what he intended to do. He wanted her assistance on a two-man carry to get her out of the deteriorating building. Flay nodded twice and moved to aid him immediately. The two timed their action to pick her up evenly, to prevent any further injury to the downed cake girl. Trudging through the destroyed sweets shop was disheartening to Flay; even her plan to annihilate Blue Cosmos' operations cells in the colony was causing casualties and destruction for the uninvolved. Thankfully, the archway at the door had held and the two were able to maneuver the fallen girl out of the building with relative ease.

Flay could feel more than hear Oruga shouting for a medic. The sound of rescue sirens and the sheer feel of APCs on the move gave her some form of sensory input to substitute for her crippled hearing. Even as he was calling for a medic, though, they continued into the plaza and stopped at the water fountain to lay her down somewhere flat and stable. When settled, Flay could see her trying to breathe against what appeared to be broken ribs and a clearly shattered right arm and shoulder, though it did not take her more than a few seconds to see the heavy coating of blood on her hands from the proprietress.

She didn't much think about the effect, but she reached down to try and clean then blood off her hands in the fountain water. Combined with the blood dripping from Hilde, the waters of the fountain were shortly stained crimson.

Her hands did not come properly clean, even after trying to clean them well past the time when the medics evacuated Hilde.

-x-x-x-

(30 July CE 72, 0845 Hours Lima (Local UTC-11) time)  
(Orb National Training Center Administration Building)

The last of the persons into the room was Kingfisher's star, the Mendel NEST Team. There were five chairs left in the room, and the five pilots spread out to take their seats.

To Colonel Kisaka, the briefing was surreal at the least. All three groups involved – Orb's ODOT Teams, the USSA MIO, and the Mendel Commandos – were grim and showing it. The three teams inside trained long and hard to squelch and shred terrorists, and the news now showed the aftermath of a terrorist attack on Mendel. The water fountain run red with blood was only the single most visceral accent to the blown-up storefronts and an overturned APC shown on the reports.

With only three kills and three injuries against eight dead and one fled BC operatives, the operation was a net loss for Blue Cosmos in all physical terms. Strictly speaking, it looked far worse than it actually had been in terms of damage or casualties. On the same point, the terrorism aspect of the operation, though loud and panicky to most normal people, only served to piss off the common Mendel citizen as opposed to the intent of terrorizing them. Colonel Kisaka had picked up an interesting Magi euphemism for such things: 'fizzle the spell of nightmares', a reference to their old lore of spellcraft. As an explanation, Kisaka learned it was an old in-joke among Magi teens who would try to use an ancient illusion spell on each other as a prank, and it practically never worked. Something to do with the necessary training to use such a spell being well in excess of a decade, Kisaka had learned. Same principle applied here: they tried mightily, but their intent fizzled fast.

"Settle down, settle down," Ledonir Kisaka ordered. "Mendel's apparently already sweated some hot intel out of a captured Blue Cosmos recon officer, and what info they have puts us on the playing field. We've spent the past week training like we mean it, time to put your fieldcraft to use."

"Who are we playing against this time?" Star Captain Vale asked.

"Blue Cosmos, of course," Kisaka answered clearly. "The situation is simple. We have a structure about six miles southeast of the capital suburbs that presently houses what appears to be a datacenter server system. They do a legitimate traffic in website hosting, but their main action is network traffic coming from space and heading to the Earth Alliance data centers for Blue Cosmos. We believe the reverse trip heads through South East Asian servers, so we have only one link here. Federal Law Enforcement recon on the facility shows heavy security measures, and at least four persons armed for heavy rifle combat, so we have orders to take the facility by storm ourselves."

"I'd've hated to be that poor civvie undercover," Major Rigos of the USSA Special Forces commented.

"It had to be hairy," Star Captain Vale agreed.

"Do we have any support?" The ODOT heavy weps officer asked.

"Transport only, and medevac helo support if needed."

"We are down a man from the blue-on-blue snipe, but even depleted we should have no problem taking out, what, nine guys tops?" Point Officer (Specialist) Connolly asked. "No sense wasting resources unneeded on the engagement."

"Man, you Magi really are combat cheap-asses, aren't you?" the MIO Scout asked.

Star Captain Vale chuckled grimly. "It's in our blood to do it harder without massive resource outlay. The Scots have had plenty of good lessons to give over the millennia. Just don't make any Scottish sheep jokes, 'cause that would be baaaaaddddd."

"That alone was bad in more ways than one," Colonel Kisaka griped. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, your mission is to make entry into this structure," and Colonel Kisaka flipped projector slides to the building schematic for the target institution. "You will neutralize all resistance with preference of taking personnel alive if at all possible. You will prevent destruction of assets which can be used as evidence for criminal prosecution and as further intelligence tracking. Lastly, you will take all reasonable measures to prevent civilian and friendly casualties. Is this clear?"

"Aff, sir!" Star Captain Vale answered.

"Yes, sir!" Captain Alistair Vickson replied immediately for the ODOT compliment.

"Aye, Colonel," Major Rigos answered for his team.

"The execution is clinically simple. The structure is part of a downtown business area in a separate suburb of the Orb capital, so our avenue of approach is going to be an alley immediately behind the structure. We will make entry through the back door via breaching charges, toss in a pair of flashbangs, and proceed to enter and secure. From there, it is a standard sweep and clear mission. Trailers will be provided by Orb Federal Police, and all personnel captured alive will be taken into custody for interrogation and eventual criminal prosecution."

"Here we go," Major Rigos noted. "Mendel's demo guy handles the charges. I _like_ the way he handles opening the can of whoopass."

"Sounds like the MIO chief's got a hard-on for your handiwork, Connolly," Point Officer Ellie Maxon said with a hint of allure to her voice.

"Hell yes, growin' a fanclub already," and Connolly threw a pair of 'devil horns' hand signal in celebration.

"ODOT volunteers to be the first in," Captain Vickson said. "Our land, our terrorists, our beat-down."

"Granted, I was going to ask you to take the lead," Kisaka replied. "Oplan goes into effect at 2200 tonight. Make sure you are locked and loaded by 1930 for deploy. I have overall command, operation second is Vickson, followed by Major Rigos and Star Captain Vale, then by descending rank in the sub-units. Rules of engagement are by the book, fire on hostiles only. Any questions?"

"Neg, Colonel," Vale answered immediately.

"Good luck, all of you."

-x-x-x-

(30 July CE 72, 2145 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Flay watched the television reports of the terrorist attack with detachment; she had been there, as two of the news programs had shown indirectly of her at the water fountain, and she wasn't truly impressed with how it went down. The operation had been too dirty, too many civilian casualties for her tastes. Nobody was supposed to be involved (or injured) besides the Mendel and Blue Cosmos personnel.

Now, she rubbed at her hands with alcohol wipes and had washed them thoroughly, but Hilde's blood would not come completely clean. She had gone through the latter stages of the First Bloody Valentine War without having blood on her hands, but now she was stained thoroughly with it. It would not clean from her, it haunted her and it drove her to the point of panic to have blood on her hands in such a fashion. More to the point, not knowing Hilde's fate was just as grating on her as the actual blood, for the blood on her hands could really represent the last blood of a collateral casualty to an ambush operation that she set up.

Even still, she continued to stay awake and continued to passively scrub at the blood. The flickering of the wall-mount television would provide all the accent possible for the 'nightmare' to come.

-x-

"3-6-Bravo to op command, confirm one tango in primary room in apartment 4-0-7. She's about five meters from the door, sitting on a couch, scrubbing her hands almost impulsively," Oruga heard over the radio circuit.

"That would be the blood of that sweets shop proprietress," Oruga answered the implicit question. "Still bothering her, I daresay."

"A terr' with a heart? Or pretensions of a heart?" the same Marine asked.

"Hard to say. I didn't get to know her all that well before this." the operations commander sighed. "3-6-Bravo, stand by to bang her," Oruga ordered coldly. "All forces, op three, stand to, I repeat, stand to."

"Standing by," the demolitions Marine standing a meter in front of Oruga said. A quick review of the hallway showed that everyone was indeed readied and the demo charge was readied for the door to her apartment.

"3-6-Bravo, make her scream," Oruga ordered, maintaining his facade of having taken this mission in vengeance of being used by the Allster chick. The whole thing was subterfuge, of course, but sometimes the best stealth was of a 'loud, hard, flashy' kind.

-x-

3-6-Bravo raised a pair of 40mm grenade launchers mounted under the right forearm of her armor, old M203 single-shot grenade launchers, and waited for the aimpoint information to appear on her HUD. Within a second, she had targeting information, including expected flight line of the shells and where they would land when she fired. After a little bit of correction, she had the aimpoint squarely on the middle of the window to her apartment and steadied. "On target, firing in three, two, one, now."

A single 40mm flashbang grenade was loosed from her grenade launcher assembly. A second after it was fired, the grenade penetrated through the window and detonated just on the inside of the glass, destroying the window completely and achieving the needed effect of stunning the target. The Marine watched as she instinctively threw herself down onto the couch and away from the flash, but the stunning and loss of cohesive thought or reaction was the intended result and it appeared to be achieved.

Less than a full second later, Flay's stun was compounded by the use of a breaching charge on her door. Four Marines stormed the room in the wake of the dust cloud kicked up by the breach, and before Flay could even begin twitching appreciably she had handcuffs on her wrists and manacles on her feet.

"3-6-Bravo to op command, no other tangos reported visible in facility."

"Aff," Oruga replied, disregarding the comment. Until it was swept by the unarmored Marines, he would not consider it clear. Safety and thorough confirmation was always key. "Continue sweep and secure."

-x-

Over a minute passed before Flay began properly processing information that her senses were giving her brain. By that time, she had been hauled off the couch and flattened against the short separator wall between the kitchen and primary (living) room. From her peripheral vision on her left side, she could see one Marine holding her against the wall with a pistol to the back of her neck, and a Marine standing two yards away with an old M4 assault rifle aimed roughly at her head. Flay accurately figured escape was not possible, but the extent of their response was well beyond anything she possibly expected.

"Kitchen clear," a separate soldier outside her vision area said.

"Bath is clear," a lady soldier said.

"Bedroom is clear."

"Laptop secured," a Marine Recondo officer said as he hoisted the machine and waved it in the general direction of the door.

"Evacuate the prisoner," someone that sounded like Oruga said from the hallway.

"Defenestrate her?" the close-proximity guard asked.

"What the hell does that mean?" Oruga – this time his voice was clear enough to recognize – asked.

"Throw her out the window, sir," the Marine said.

"Neg. Century Commander Lightbringer wants this one alive."

"Awwu, it's only four stories..." the Marine said, showing their dislike of terrorists thoroughly.

"...Or you can explain to the Century Commander why she didn't make it," Oruga said coldly. "She's more valuable to the Empire alive than dead. Get her moving. Remainder of team, begin sweep for intel and assets. Box her personal effects and see to the contents of the reefer, it's doubtful she will return here again in any corporeal fashion."

"Aff, sir," the rifle-armed Marine said. "Out the door, honey, and watch your step. You have manacles on."

Flay simply sighed and did as ordered. Outside her apartment two armored Marines stood guard with their 20mm assault rifles at the ready, and Oruga stood on the far side of the Marines with a sub-machinegun of his own. His expression was semi-hostile, which Flay expected; this was a subterfuge operation through and through, and he was playing the part of a betrayed boyfriend to the hilt. This would be listed as an 'affair of honor' for his participation in 'her capture', given that Magi considered personal betrayal as was simulated here to be a true affront to a person's honor.

"Take her down to my APC, along with her laptop. The Century Commander wants to talk to this one immediately."

"Aff, sir."

-x-

(Location: Mendel Administration Building, 10th Floor)

The elevator dinged in classic fashion as it hit the tenth floor. The opened doors revealed two Marines in full assault gear in the lobby area of the floor, with a single unarmored trooper wearing a tactical vest and smoking a cigar sitting at the reception desk.

Oruga led the way for the four persons out of the elevator, past the Armored Marines, and to the reception desk with near nonchalance. Being within touching distance to the much-feared infantry of the Multimage Empire gave her a severe chill in the spine, but they did not react to her presence in any major fashion. "Gundam Pilot Oruga Sabnak and three to see the Century Commander."

"Late night for all of you, eh?" the 'receptionist' said. "Head on in, pilot. He's been waiting."

"Aff," Oruga replied, and waved Flay toward the office in question. The guards stopped her a meter short as Oruga knocked. "Sabnak and three, boss."

"Enter," a muffled voice replied from the far side of the door. Oruga pushed through and held open the door for Flay and the Marines.

Flay avoided gaping at the office she stood in, mainly because she expected as much from the second-most-powerful man in the Mendel Protectorate. Heavy wood desk, wood paneling (no doubt concealing soundproofing materials) on the walls, plush cut-pile carpet, multiple decorative file cabinets, a credenza and a liquor cabinet, and the flags behind his desk flanking the large window looking out over the darkened colony.

The flags truly drew her attention; she has seen the standard Multimage flag (the three equilateral triangles, one stacked upon the apexes of two others, which looked like a gray version of the Triforce from the ancient Zelda games) and she had seen the Mendel protectorate flag (the Mendel colony silhouette superimposed over the Multimage Triad symbol), but the other four flags were a new one that she could not make sense of. She could only guess that one of them was the battle flag of the Task Force Jokers Wild, and one was the battle flag for the _Mjolnr_, but the other two were a mystery to her.

"By your leave, Century Commander?" the senior of the two escorting Marines requested.

"Neg, remain," Gerald Lightbringer replied. "You are part of this plan in at least part, you should hear this. Oruga, excellent work. The story of her capture has made some serious noise on the press wires already, which works to everyone's advantage."

"Aye, sir," Oruga replied as he keyed open Flay's restraints.

"And congratulations to both you, Flay, and you Marines, for playing a good psy-op against Blue Cosmos. Her capture flushed out two known intel officers and the last surviving action cell operator from this afternoon's attempted bombing. We grill them over charcoal for methods and intel, then ventilate their brainpans and dispose of the bodies. Excellent work, all four of you."

"This was a ruse, sir?" the senior Marine asked archly.

"Aff. Miss Allster is a defector from Blue Cosmos. The Ambush at the Cactus was her engineering work, to which we fabricated a turkey shoot to send the operators to Hell by way of an express train full of Marine whoopass."

"Holy shit, no wonder we were in position to kill them so readily. We knew in advance because a double set their whole cell up. Fuck yes!" The junior escort said.

"Why the full-court-press for the capture, Century Commander?" the senior Marine asked.

"First off, what you just heard and surmised, and what I am about to tell you, is all classified. Don't even mumble about it in your wildest wet dreams, quiaff?" Century Commander Lightbringer ordered.

"Aff, sir," all except Flay answered aroitly.

"Second, You did the 'full shellacking' style of take-down because I want Flay to disappear from everyone's radar – except mine and the _Dominion_'s sensors, of course. By making it look like she was captured in a follow-up sweep, and because she won't be heard from likely until after the next war in any official capacity, Blue Cosmos now thinks she is going to be heavily interrogated and quietly executed, just as will the other dezgra dogs we picked up thirty minutes ago."

"Ah," the senior Marine bemoaned. "Out of sight, assumed executed, out of mind and out of reach," she admitted. "I keep forgetting you were a Commando, sir, and think like that."

Gerald smiled. "I'm going to ignore you said that, Point Commander," he said with a clear hint of humor. The official story was that Gerald was *NOT* a Commando, and vehemently denied it whenever asked. Flay wasn't so sure, given even his denial was ambiguous in this case.

"Sir," the ambiguously-chastised Marine replied immediately.

"You two Marines will see to the interrogation of the last action cell operator. If you do not find yourselves of heart to dispose of him after you have him broken and squealing, I have a few who will."

"Hell with that, sir," the junior Marine replied. "Those fucks got three civvies and critical'd two more. I'd kill 'im right now if he wasn't more valuable alive than dead."

"Good. See to it. Dismissed."

"Aff, sir!" the two Marines replied after they came to attention, then left as quickly as they came.

"Grab a seat, Flay, Oruga," Gerald said. "We have some paperwork to go over before I release you two to quarters. To allay your fears about Hilde, she is listed as critical but expected to recover. Since she will be out of commission for months, her store is presently considered national property due to it being a crime scene. Under an old Magi law I have assumed lease and insurance payments for the time being. Technically the property belongs to the Task Force, she is leasing it from us, so we will have her shop rebuilt for her while she recovers under the terms of her insurance policy."

"That is good," Flay answered calmly. She was deathly afraid that the second killed was Hilde, but...

"And now for you," Gerald said. "I have need of another sensor operator on the _Dominion_. What say you to riding on the wings of an _Archangel_ once more?"

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

This would have been out sooner had I not had a garden tractor blow up on me. Engine faults are not pretty. All things considered, though, it was an old machine, it had earned its end. Though, in terms of writing racing between this story and Archangel's Amazing Adventures, this story got the mileage. I should have a chapter of AAA done sometime before the end of next month, rest assured.

When I say things will get messy, I generally mean it.

The fun of this chapter was the clandestine operations, natch. Blue Cosmos in Mendel, the Commandos in Orb, the whole act was less than a full week from start to finish of nothing more than tour de force of special operations. The challenge in writing Special Operations is that I'm not normally geared toward small unit Spec ops; my bread and butter is maneuver forces, space naval, long term campaign work, or basically strategic warfare (as opposed to tactical).

The major part of the chapter is the build-up to and execution of the Blue Cosmos plan. This should show you just how easily terrorism operations can be compromised if you know what the enemy intends and have the will (political and operational) to stiff the opposition. For Flay, the problem isn't so much political as it is operational. Blue Cosmos, being the great vindictive organization it is, will kill her if they ever find her. For her to go 'public' (or at least come out of the shadows), Blue Cosmos would have to be squelched almost entirely to give her a modicum of safety. On the other hand, that 'stealth' gives her options of more than a few kinds in dealing with her problems and straightening out her conflicting personal goals.

Where angels shall not tread, so shall walk the Mendel Special Operations personnel. The blitz operation handled by Kingfisher was a win three times over for his team, despite his own declaration on the matter. It only takes one nuclear device in close proximity to really ruin a nation's day, and that is what the NEST (**N**uclear **E**lite **S**trike **T**eam) was testing. That three of the five arrived at the objective point in a timely fashion was enough to shake up Orb's defensive strategy; their next operations games will show some changes in armor and artillery tactics designed to help prevent a repeat of this in simulation or real life.

My beta pointed out two things to me about the nuclear raid simulation. First, the overfly from Kingfisher and the footage it produced would be plenty to piss off Kira. Well, all things considered, Mendel doesn't release battle camera footage unless there is some manner of direct profit to doing so; cleavage pics may make some rounds around the 'mechbay back at Mendel, but public release is likely not going to happen. Kira would never know, all things considered, unless something goes horridly wrong. Second, Kira should have been waiting for Kingfisher and jumped on him, which would have been a one-sided slaughter of a Physalis, but the dice decided he was not informed off the bat and only came in for a pursuit phase. Call it poor planning on Orb's case or a willingness to consider Kira retired from Gundam piloting, take your pick. The scenario would have been wildly different if he had been involved.

The other major point my beta made was Flay's upcoming involvement, and how Mendel could use her as an influence pawn in similar fashion to how Durandal used Meer Campbell. So far, that thought has not occurred to Mendel, and may not happen at all, but there are some serious opportunities as written to change fates to come. On an aside, Meer Campbell made a semi-cameo in this chapter, and you can clearly see she is not working as Durandal's pawn to front a bogus plan for the future. She's on the level this time around, but may end up working with Mendel to help cut short the Blue Cosmos reign. Who knows? A team-up between Allster and Campbell could be pretty powerful...

That's all for the mainline story discussion. You can probably guess where it will go from here.

NEXT UP: Flay learns how the Magi handle radar, flight control, and mobile warfare in a tour de force of training and drilling. As space calms down, the action on the ground heats up toward the inevitable boiling point.

* * *

Review Replies: Four reviews engenders four replies. In order of posted:

**Takeshi Yamato**: Unfortunately, the new machine doesn't fit with storyline progression, but it is a good idea. Hold on to it for another story, I will find use for it somewhere, of course with an appropriate pilot...

**Deathzealot**: You have my most sincere apologies for the Djibril incident. Some things should never see the light of day, but I have this bad habit of showing even the most reviled foes as somewhat human...before I deal with them. And Djibril is one of the most reviled of all...

Also, some of the names you gave will be used on the _Garm_-class ships, rest assured. I'm still working on possibly looking into the concept or the actual ships you pointed to in that forum. Stay tuned for more info.

**Knives91**: The Ghosts will have some problems, but they will have their moments beyond compare. One of them will be in the next chapter, even. Stay tuned :)

**Manta Arms 1989**: The original plot has most of the material I need, but tweaking the details and writing a lot better is the mileage I need. Thanks for the accolades, there is more to come. Far more to come.

Thank you all for the reviews! The more ideas I get, the easier and the faster I can write it up!

* * *

The Gripe Sheet:

No outstanding complaints from the last chapter. W00t! And, of course, thanks to **Necroblade** for the assistance.

* * *

Footnotes:

(1): **Line Charge** is a flexible explosive formed into a shape charge. It is commonly used to cut into structures with a wall thickness no greater than 10 centimeters, and can be fitted to a wall in any shape or size (provided enough line charge is available). Walls thicker than 10 centimeters, or walls with double or triple gaps, require the use of a satchel charge to breach.

(2): **Node Rings** are an extrapolation of a device seen in some Mechwarrior artwork and frequently seen in the Battletech cartoon, silver rings on the back of a Clan 'Mechwarrior's hand. Though they are not given a real purpose in anything I've seen, I extrapolate them as devices to allow wireless control of the hands and arms on a battlemech or omnimech in finite control (non-weapon) tasks. Thus, a Mechwarrior equipped with such Node Rings can reach and grab objects with his machine's arms and hands as if they were a natural extension of his body and without the use of complex (and bulky) waldo-style control gloves.

(3): **Pettanko** is a Japanese term which directly translates into 'a flat chest'. More than just the physical trait, though, a Pettanko is also a mindset venerating the fact that she is flat, sometimes to the point of taking pride in it and (usually) taking offense to being unfavorably compared to larger ladies.

(4): **RIO** stands for **R**adio / **I**ntercept **O**fficer. In two-seat aircraft configurations, the pilot handles flying and weapons, the RIO handles radio, long-range radar, and electronic warfare tasks.


	6. Your Instructor Is Murphy

(Dilemma of Flay Allster, Chapter 6: Your Instructor Is Murphy)

(1 August CE 72, 0600 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 7, Military Recruiting And Civilian Services Administration Building)

The address that Gerald had given her led to the more prominent of Mendel's two recruiting stations in this colony. It was also the dispatch and administration facility for the Civilian Services Units (engineers, military police, similar) that serviced the colony or worked with private contractors to do the same. Because the military was the government, top to bottom, civil services had to be handled in a different fashion.

She had arrived as a unit of engineers were leaving for inspection routines, and all three of the personnel had given her a quick look down. None of them appeared hostile, so apparently her story from the night before had not thus far made the rounds. Flay considered that a good thing; explaining her whole duplicity in annihilating the last Blue Cosmos ops cell would be straightforward, but dicey until she could convince others that she was on the level. Better if nobody knew, she figured.

Inside the lobby, there were two desks and two sets of waiting chairs. Belying the corporate culture of the Magi armed forces, the area was not chic; if anything, Flay considered it extremely plain, almost to the point of spartan. Other than slate granite floors and wallpapered walls, the only major notable in the room was a large planter with four dwarf walnut trees in it and a lot of smaller planters around the room with ferns or flowers. She had a hard time imagining the average Mendel warrior as someone with a green thumb, but...

After a few moments admiring the flowers, Flay ducked left to the recruiting desk. The receptionist was on her game, and even before Flay approached the desk she was off the computer and looking at the potential new recruit. "Good morning. Might I help you?"

"I'm here to sign up for a specific entry position as requested by Gerald Lightbringer," Flay said, hoping to cut down some confusion in case any would crop up.

Apparently, it did. "Ah, yes, I have that information here. Flay Allster, correct?"

"I am," Flay replied. Like most Mendel citizens, she wore her codex as a necklace, and this she provided to the recruiter.

"Looks like you've already been approved for a 349-Tango MOS, Sensors Specialist posting on the _Dominion_. I would say someone has a long list of plans for you already," the recruiter said in a hushed whisper. "Century Commander Lightbringer does not normally take an interest in recruiting affairs or personnel assignment unless he has to, but he has most of your stuff written up."

"Is that good or bad?" Flay asked with a clear dose of suspicion.

"Unusual, not really good or bad. CC Lightbringer is a hands-off kind of administrator."

_Then again, I'm starting my enlistment under very bizarre circumstances anyways, so_... Flay deliberately didn't say so aloud, but she was very thankful she had a way into the Magi and out of the iron grip of Blue Cosmos.

"Okay, the only thing you need to worry about right now is a couple of forms that require your signature. Your standard enlistment form, duties form, next of kin form, and chain of command form. The rest of the standard paperwork is done."

"That is surprisingly simple," Flay said in shock, clearly expecting at least a half-days worth of paperwork as would any other military ask for.

"Normally the process is ten forms, but you're down to four. Appears CC Lightbringer has signed off on the rest as verified and filed." Her tone of voice stated clearly that it was highly irregular procedure for recruiting and inprocessing.

For Flay's part, she was actually relieved that the paperwork was reduced. She would have to thank the Century Commander for taking that much burden off her in this rather spiky time. The first form was nothing new to her, Natarle had given her a similar form in years past on the _Archangel_. Simply stated, it declared that she would serve for a duration of no less than 5 years for crew or infantry positions, and no less than 10 years for trade, specialist, or Mobile Army positions, or until the end of the present conflict, whichever was greater. Since Flay expected Blue Cosmos would spark the next war shortly, she considered that the next war would start before her enlistment was up. It was nothing for her to sign on the line; she expected she would be at it for several decades, long enough to clear her name and her family's name.

The duties form was an oddity to her. It referred to her duties as a member of the Mendel Provisional Government, something she had not been concerned about as an Earth Alliance enlisted officer. It made sense in context; with the military being so small, everyone had to participate in the functions of government and combat. Thankfully, for her position the most she could expect to do was law enforcement if any Military Police were not in the area. She expected she would be thoroughly trained on that subject in years to come.

The third form was preciously short; she had nobody in her next of kin that she wanted to come into possession of her personal effects, should she be killed. She certainly didn't want anyone in her family taking on the collection of firearms and blades she would personally grow while in the military; of her relatives, she considered that maybe four or five out of the dozens she could think of offhand would actually know how to use them safely and responsibly.

The chain of command form was as much archaic as it was required. Every soldier had to know who was in his or her chain of command, though technically anyone that outranked her would be able to give her orders. Above her, she answered to the CIC Commander, one Carlie Grey, a former sensor operator on the _Mjolnr_. The CIC Commander answered to Captain Soritz Jamestown, the Chief Jump Engineer from the _Mjolnr_ moved out to the _Dominion_ due to the destruction of his job. Captain Jamestown answered to Century Commander Lightbringer, who was posted to the _Dominion_ as his duty ship. Lightbringer answered to Star Admiral Centara, which made perfect sense in the end. The chain did not end there, of course; the Star Admiral theoretically answered to a Division Commander Gerard Caecilius, a person that Flay thoroughly expected to never see in her lifetime. The end of the chain was someone that Flay considered a mythical figure, heard but never seen, Rini Atrebas. After the brief run-down, she signed off on the last page and returned the tablet to the administrator.

"All right, your docs look to be in order and the tablet was able to get a genetic read, so everything is now verified." Flay blanched briefly, having allowed herself to forget that security procedures for the Magi were quite a bit different than the rest of Existence. "Please step up onto the white tile platform, need your measurements for your gear issue."

Flay silently dreaded this, even though she knew it was coming. She expected she had gained some weight, but held her peace on the matter and simply stepped up to the plate. After thirty seconds in place, she asked the inevitable question: "How long does this take?"

"Another ten seconds and we're good," the recruiter answered. "Done now. Okay, looks like you're getting...a non-standard gear set...huh?"

"What's wrong?" the new recruit asked with a hint of dread.

"Normally, when enlisted come through here, they either bring their own arsenal or draw it from the quartermaster in back," and she pointed to the door to the quartermaster facility that was adjacent to the dispatch building, "but I see no weapons clearances here except for four combat knives and a pistol belt."

"That...doesn't make much sense," Flay admitted.

"Oh, wait, I missed a notation here. 'Gerald Lightbringer will issue arms on the Dominion and will conduct training during Sensor Operator Allster's downtime.' Looks like the boss is handling your weps, sorry about the confusion there."

"Oh, okay," Flay answered blearily. She had no earthly clue as to why Gerald would take an interest in her use of firearms, but...

"Everything is set here. Here are your muster orders," and Flay was handed a printed card with a location and time. "Once you have your gear, a quartermaster driver will take you down to the industrial dock, where you will be met by the person who is taking you out to the _Dominion_. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am," Flay said truthfully. So far, the whole process was straightforward and easy to understand.

"Your codex is your military record. In centuries to come, it will likely be all that is remembered of you among the military, unless you make a mark worthy of Remembering. Make sure you keep it up to date and may the Gods show favor on you."

"That was...unexpected," Flay replied in shock.

"Where you go, the _Dominion_, and with a sea daddy (1) such as Gerald Lightbringer, you will need all the favor you can get. He took a personal interest in you for a reason, Flay, but don't expect any manner of easy break for it. If anything, he will push you to your limits, and teach you how to break your plateaus. You will need luck and more."

"Thank you," Flay replied with a formal bow. _This sounds painful_, she admitted to herself as she moved toward the quartermaster area.

Once inside the door, the sounds of moving equipment caught her attention adroitly. Inside was a counter that surrounded the door, preventing people from easily accessing the quartermaster area as a safety precaution. Sitting at the counter was one guy younger than she was, though Flay maintained no illusions: he was probably a veteran hand as a quartermaster.

Her presence did not go unnoticed. "Flay Allster, right?" he asked. "Welcome to the touman (2), milady," he said with uncharacteristic grace. "I've got my greenhorns pulling your gear now, should be ready in a few minutes. And hopefully they won't try sniffing the panties this time."

"Wait, what?" Flay asked.

"Serious, one of these trainees tried sniffing some panties as he was pulling them for a kit issue, and forgot to get all the plastic shrink-wrap off before he began inhaling. Had to have a Medtech pull the plastic bits out of his sinuses; 'tis a gods-damned wonder he didn't completely inhale it and choke to death."

Flay decided a wise-crack was in order. "And many a lady would have considered that poetic justice."

Barely did the Quartermaster Lead have time to chuckle before two yet-younger QC guys brought forth a bin each; Flay guessed maybe fifty pounds of material total between the two. "Man, we had to really dig for some of this stuff...and now I see why."

"Really," Flay answered with a tone that bespoke clear disdain for his ogling of her.

"Anyway, the tray behind you is for packing your barrel bag. Piece of advice, since every greenhorn has trouble with this: clothes go in the bottom, anything sensitive goes in the middle, such as electronics or ordinance, your field blanket and jacket go in third, and other field gear goes up top."

"Gotcha," Flay acknowledged as the two bins were placed where she could get to them. As he instructed, she packed everything into her barrel bag, though her pistol belt and knives went in a separate duffel she carried aside. The Quartermaster Lead was kind enough to help her mount the backpack to her smaller frame, which almost unbalanced her temporarily since the pack weighed roughly two-fifths of her natural weight.

"All right, Luis! You have the number three truck, take the stuff down to the industrial docks, berth 8, and drop Enlisted Allster at the pick-up point. And no screwing around downtown on the way back, follow?"

"Aye aye, skippa," Luis deliberately slurred the last word. Flay guessed (correctly) that it was some manner of inside joke among the Quartermasters. "On me, Flay," and the youngest of the greenhorns waved her toward the short trucks that were used to transport pallets of material to and from the various facilities in the Mendel logistics network.

-x-

The Pickup Station was a novel concept, Flay figured. Rather than relying on civilian transport (which costed), incoming or outgoing personnel would wait for their ride from a transport headed to or from their ship.

Flay had availed herself of the 80-minute wait to change from her civilian clothes to her basic uniform. She considered that Mendel had an immediate thumbs-up from a former Earth Alliance crewman, given there was no mini-skirts involved here. The Magi were a warrior's culture, and Flay had always considered it a dumbass move to use miniskirts for anything other than possibly dress uniforms. Her BDU was slate-blue cargo pants, slate-blue working shirt, tan combat boots, and a hat that worked for her best worn backwards. The hat had a velcro panel forward and back, for insignia or morale patches (Sometimes both) and the BDU shirt had velcro panels up and down the arms for patches, which she figured she would acquire as time went on.

Time passed relatively quickly, watching the industrial harbor denizens come and go. It was easily the busiest port in space, as Mendel had a huge amount of traffic in materials coming in and going out — one of the few sources of hard capital Mendel had was in manufacturing. She even watched as one of the massive _Guild II_ Dropships departed with a full hold of palletized goods, headed likely to the PLANTs or to the moon. She even saw one of the newer and much smaller _Kamui_-class Dropships being produced in Orb with technical assistance from Mendel, a sight she didn't expect to see for some months as production geared up.

90 minutes passed even as she was mesmerized by the shifting personnel and equipment. A Dropshuttle pilot had stopped to inquire about her destination, though he said he was heading out to the _Mjolnr_, not to the _Dominion_.

100 minutes passed, and she questioned where her ride was to an empty transfer point.

110 minutes passed and a transfer group came in from one of the shuttles, awaiting transfer to a different ship on a different shuttle.

At 120 minutes waiting, Flay was just starting to doze off when a raucous shout snapped her awake. "Century Commander on deck!"

Flay knew this procedure from her time in the Earth Alliance and Blue Cosmos. As soon as the shout began, she was already on her feet and to attention, just as fast as any of the veteran Magi personnel in the room.

"As you were," Gerald Lightbringer acknowledged the prompt stance of everyone in the room. "Allster, ready to go?"

"Aye, Century Commander. Where's my lift?"

"I am it," Gerald admitted. "_Dominion_ was just in port last week, so no supply transfers for another fortnight. Only persons in and out are pilots at this time, which means you ride with me. Grab your gear, this is going to be an interesting transit."

"Sir, I don't have a normal suit," Flay admitted.

"Won't need one, I'm parked in one of the airlocks right now." In point of fact, Flay had noticed that the Century Commander did not have a pilot's suit or pilot's armor just the same as she did not. "Sorry for the delay, I was held up in a command-level meeting."

Flay acknowledged his apology with what she hoped was dignity, but in truth was struggling to keep proper balance with her heavy gearpack and add-on duffel. Keeping pace with the much-older officer was no simple task, and by the time they reached the parking lock for Gerald's ride she was thoroughly winded. "Sorry, sir, I'm not used to carrying a load like this."

"I would have thought...neg, disregard. I can see why you're not conditioned for it, Blue Cosmos are light-fighters. You usually carried what, twenty pounds of weps and gear?"

"Fifteen, normally, sir," Flay admitted.

"Well, we can work on that," Gerald noted. "If you expect to keep pace with Oruga for any length of time, you will need it." Now Gerald was doing the unthinkable to Flay, climbing up onto the chest of his prone Gundam. "Pass your bag up here, I have a Commando Hatch (3) on my machine for stowing mission gear."

Flay was able to shove her barrel bag up the side of the armor plate far enough that Gerald could reach down and grab it, an embarrassing turn of events for Flay. She knew she should not be this far out of shape, but by the same token she really didn't have any operational need to have heavy physical strength. She was a clandestine operator, then a secretary, and now a sensor operator, three positions that really didn't take brute strength to do your duties.

"Your turn, kid," and Gerald fairly hauled her up the side of the Gundam in the same fashion he had hauled her barrel bag up. "Now is the fun part. My Gundam was never set up with a passenger seat, so you're going to need to crawl in first behind the command couch."

"Yes, sir," Flay answered immediately as the hatch cleared open. She saw where Gerald was referring to, a gap behind the command seat...that already had what looked like two rocket launchers stowed back there.

"And be careful of those rockets. Don't want one of those to go off while we're in flight, that would ruin both our days real hurriedly," Gerald warned her.

"I read you loud and clear, sir," Flay said as she dropped into the cockpit and slid back into the storage space. Gerald dropped in a few moments after she was in place, though only her left foot was down on the floor of the cockpit, the other was resting on something in an impression of Captain Morgan rum bottles. A little inspection of the offending object told her that it was some sort of ammo can he had stuffed behind the seat.

"There are a pair of Jesus handles a former comrade of mine installed right above your head. You probably won't need them, but if I have to maneuver, grab hold and don't let go," Gerald briefed her even as he strapped himself into the five-point harness on his seat. "Ready to go?"

"Aye, sir," Flay answered with some more gusto.

He toggled a switch on the console. "Nightshade, awaken," he said more to the front monitor than anything else.

"I am awake," the machine answered. "Welcome to the greenhorn, as well," it continued, which surprised Flay to a significant extent.

"Thank...you?" Flay responded with some trepidation.

Gerald chuckled briefly. "I have had an Artificial Intelligence unit in this suit for some time, helps with command-level operations and helps with AI Integration throughout the fleet. Nightshade, do we have clearance from harbor control yet?"

"Not yet, we have an incoming _Guild II_. Ten minutes."

"Bollocks, I was hoping to avoid that thing," the Century Commander groused.

"The wages of running late in your meeting, old man," the AI answered.

"Thanks," Gerald replied with a hint of acid to voice. "So, Flay, any questions or concerns so far?"

-x-x-x-

(1 August CE 72, 1200 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Bridge)

"Century Commander on deck!" the CIC Commander shouted.

"As you were," Gerald answered; he did not want the _Dominion_'s operations disrupted on a formality, and moved quickly to quash it.

"Welcome back, chief," the Captain said. "And I see you have the new Sensor Operator in tow. Welcome aboard, Flay Allster."

"Sir, thank you, a pleasure to be here and not where I was," Flay responded with a gush.

Captain Soritz Jamestown raised an eyebrow but didn't inquire further. "All right, Gerald, you didn't explain this one thoroughly. What's the plan here?"

"Well, since we have a new sensor operator, we're up to full staff. I'd like to push us as hard as possible once we get Allster up to speed, see if we can make the next rating before New Year's."

"Yeah, being rated 'Regular' even almost a year after this ship was commissioned into the Touman isn't sitting well with any of us, much less me. We can do better."

"We will do better, but we must do it smartly," Gerald noted with a pensive tone of voice. "For an Assault Monitor to get Veteran classification, we have to engage and destroy two other Monitors in our classification bracket, disrupt some kind of large-scale enemy operation, and capture at least our tonnage in enemy assets, all in the same theoretical or real engagement. No simple task, that, especially since our pool of competition is either Mendel ships — all elite or ace formations — or ZAFT units, which we would have to go head-to-head with a Naval Trinary to make tonnage requirements." Neither task of which sounded entirely pleasant to Flay as she settled into her station and activated her console.

"Okay, you just set us a helluva high bar, boss. What's the operational concept?"

"My plan is to go for ZAFT," Gerald declared boldly. "As a combined unit, fifteen ZAFT ships sounds nigh-unwinnable for the _Dominion_, but I think otherwise. If we engage them smart, and we use our Gundams brutally with no holds barred, we can do it. The matter will take expert quarterbacking, and for that I have enlisted some special help."

"Who?"

"The Mendel Artificial Intelligence Entity will be helping us to train ourselves to the point of Elite or Ace formation standards — I'm aiming higher than just Veteran, I've never been rated below Elite and I've never been assigned to a formation rated below Veteran. Not starting that bad habit now, follow?" More than a few persons on the bridge replied affirmative. "The linchpin for this is going to be the Sensors Officers. I expect all four of you to put in the overtime and learn your material forward and back, quiaff?"

"Aff, sir!" three of the Sensors Officers answered, including Flay.

"The trick here is we need to read their intentions before they make moves, and we need expert quarterbacking to put our forces in every possible weakpoint we can exploit. The only way we can win a 15-on-1 scrap is to string them out and hammer them flat one or two at a time, and the only reasonable way to accomplish that is if the sensors team is doing it like the best. You in or out, Soritz?"

"Hell yes I'm in, boss-man," Soritz answered immediately. "When do we start?"

"Three days to get Flay into the routine and handle her basic crash-course on Magi sensor systems. After that, we bring in the direct link to the AI and train it like we mean it. I am thinking two simulated battles a day, with intermediate drilling interspersed through the day. No sacrifice, no victory."

"And no joy if we don't get that victory," Soritz dropped his addendum to the old lament.

"Oh, yeah, I think I can sweeten the deal," Gerald mused aloud. "Tell you guys what. The Boss wanted a ship to make a port call to South America sometime early next year. Figured either _Dominion_ or _Thrones_ were good choices for the detail. If we post Veteran before New Year's, the Boss said he gives it to us. If both ships post Veteran, we face off in a Trial of Possession for the right to make the port call. It'll be five days OFO (4) in a major South American port city, so there'll be as much action as you can muster, ladies and gentlemen."

"Five days in Rio? Hell yes!" the Helmsman shouted.

"Cumana sounds damn fine this time of year," the radio Operator noted.

"We could do Brasila, if we wanted to go inland," Captain Jamestown said.

"Caracas in Venezuela, or we could go up into the mountains and do a tour or something," the senior Sensor Officer noted.

"Options, options," Gerald said with a wry grin, just barely visible to Flay. "But, before we can get to South America, we must get to a level of veterancy that will make the Earth Alliance quake in their jackboots. Warship _Thrones_ is no slouch formation; the captain of that ship is an old hand, used to be over the _Redland_. He knows his anti-warship drill forward and back, and the _Thrones_ is identical to this ship. We don't want those wheels running us over on the way to South America, hear?"

"Aff, Century Commander!" half the bridge shouted in retort.

"Drilling begins three days hence, 0600 hours. I want game faces and ample supplies of caffeine at showtime. As we get better, we crank up the sim difficulty incrementally until we hit top end for our ship's capabilities, which is well above where we need to be to make the goal."

"Commander Grey, please write up the orders and oplan for posting in the message boards," Captain Jamestown ordered of the CIC Commander.

"On it, sir," the CIC commander said.

"Warrant Officer Nikko, you have the task of breaking in Crewman Allster. Get to it."

"Aye, Captain," Flay's immediate neighbor said. "Three days to get you in battery," he said with a clearly hopeful tone. "You have any experience on sensor systems?"

"Ground-based radar sets, for Mobile SAM systems," Flay answered. They were mostly useless for long-range operations, but some short-range radar-guided SAM systems did still exist and Flay had trained on them when in Blue Cosmos.

"Okay, same thing, different scale and different purpose. You covered the range gate and declutter systems, right?"

"Declutter, yes, not the other," Flay said with trepidation.

"Well, since we have 20 million watts of radar power on easy, and more if we need it, we could track asteroids in the asteroid belt if we set the radar return timing right. That's controlled by a range gate, which controls how long the radar accepts return signals, which is this setting here," and the senior operator pointed it out to Flay. "Right now it is set for 1 millisecond range gate, which is roughly 150 kilometers. Every millisecond you increase that gate gives you roughly 150 more kilometers. In space engagements, you want no less than 100 millisecond gates, because you can get shot at that range. We usually use a 2000-milli gate to keep an eye on anyone or anything around us. On ground, you'll get a lot of false returns, so you want only 6 or 8 millisecond gates. With me so far?"

"Aye," Flay noted.

"There will be a quiz and some lab work, kiddo, so make sure you're paying attention. Take notes if needed."

Flay took the time to break out her note-puter and begin taking notes. The Magi issued one such tablet to recruits, who would use it throughout their career to keep track of important information, and Flay considered keeping an eye on anyone that might be shooting at her to be a very important thing. After thirty seconds of scribbling on the digitizer, her notes were translated to cleartext and she was ready to continue. "Okay, so we set the range gates by environment, I take it?"

"Yeah, and once you set the range gate, you set your declutter filter, which is the long slider at the top of your panel. That removes small or spurious returns that would not be a threat, though you need to be careful about using too much declutter."

"Yeah, setting the declutter on an ADA radar to 'planes only' can cause you to miss the attack chopper sneaking up on your backside," Flay noted in repeat of her instructor on the old SAM battery.

"Same thing up here. Space intercept missiles can be filtered out if you use too much declutter, which can be harmful to everyone's health. We'll do some sims of theoretical attacks on the ship to get the hang of it."

Flay wrote down a quick note on the declutter setting, after starting a new file for it on her note-puter. Mastering that setting would take her months, she figured, as would the rest of the radar functions. She had no clue that learning the radar would be the easy part of her job; it would be the flight control functions that would be the difficult but manageable skills to learn.

-x-x-x-

(1 August CE 72, 1500 Hours UTC)  
(Ghost Outpost Hannibal, Earth Alliance Territory)

"Welcome to the snake-house, Jonesy," Ghost Officer Thomas greeted the new entrant to the Ghost Base.

"It is damn good to be somewhere that I can step out of armor," Ghost Instructor Benjamin Jones replied as he closed the primary door behind himself. "This has been a helluva long hike to here, and I will need several days of rest before I move again."

"Already programmed into your operations plans," Star Commander Meghan Garibaldi said as she dropped her light novel onto the table. "How was your journey?"

"Long," Benjamin answered readily, but not in a soured fashion. "Easily the longest infiltration I have ever made, but not the most difficult."

"So, why you?" Hawk Longfeather asked, briefly looking up from the sharpening of his favorite bowie knife. It was a relic of his family's past, taken from a dead American Cowboy that had tried displacing his family by force. Longfeather troopers in decades, centuries past had used it on pirates and bandits, and now it would be used on Blue Cosmos terrorists.

"I chose for a deploy operation," Benjamin answered. "Before I settle into training the next generation of Ghosts, I want to know the field of competition."

"You'll have plenty of work down here, old man," Ghost Officer Thomas conceded. "You heading west in your search, or east?"

"More north, toward Chicago, Green Bay, South Bend, the major urban centers. The commanders want me to inspect airports as possible landing zones if things go hot."

"Ah," Amina said with dread. "This is going to get messy, for both us and them."

"I have been thinking about that," Benjamin said, the first he had said without the use of his armor's external speakers; he was still extracting himself from the armor, not a simple task. "Not even Blue Cosmos will use their nuclear arms inside the Atlantic Federation territory. If they did, the civilians would revolt against both BC and the Federation. It would be a bloodbath of the second order, regardless of how we made out in the end."

"We would be a little too nuked to give a damn at that point," Thomas noted fairly.

"Unless they unleashed a whole ICBM on a major metro area, they couldn't get us all, and if they did that, every swing BC dick would be chopped up and used for sausage by nightfall the next day," Amina said crassly. "The old Instructor has the right of it. If we gain a solid foothold inside Eurasian or Atlantic territory, we win by default. They can't dislodge us without nukes or chem weps, the can't use nukes without civilian repercussions, and they can't use chem weps without antimatter repercussions. And in conventional battle, we would hold all the advantages necessary; grind them with suborbital bombardment and air power until our ground forces can flatten them."

"All while we go in behind enemy lines, disrupt communications and high value targets, kill important personnel, generally make a nuisance of ourselves."

"If we're going that far, I want to piss on Djibril's rose garden and bury him next to it," Ghost Officer Xion commented as she exited the area of the showers and robing room, herself freshly cleaned up from a recon run. "Autoerotic asphyxiation is no manner of proper conduct for a proper relationship, and I'd like to perform it on him with my armored gloves."

"Whoa there, girl, there may be a waiting line for Djibril's hide before the shooting is done," Benjamin chided her fairly. "Though, in all honesty, capping him off early on could disrupt the operations flow of this shadow cabal LOGOS, and that could buy us some hours to better organize our landing operations."

"The first three to five days shall determine the outcome, and our detail is to make sure that we take out early warning and special assets in the landing zones," Star Commander Garibaldi said with determination to voice. "Djibril is gravy; if you get a shot, take it, but your missions come first. There is only so much planet that makeup-wearing pussy can hide on, and Magi are patient soldiers by trade. We will find him, eventually."

"Absolutely correct, Megan," Benjamin affirmed her position before he wandered toward the showers. "All things considered, I think this is going to be more of a shadow war than anything else. Mendel doesn't have the assets to hold ground, so we'll probably be doing a lot of wet-work to make up for the thinness of our enforced diet. ZAFT and USSA may get in on the action, which will take some heat off us, but we're still outnumbered."

"I still can't believe the great Instructor is down in the weeds doing recon," Amina noted pensively as Benjamin fired up his shower.

"I was down in the weeds long before you were born, kiddo," Benjamin reminded her. "I have not made it to the ripe old age of 62 without due cause. I think another turn tunneling with the snakes is going to be good apropos for my resume when we begin a full-on Ghost training program."

"And he has earned his record," Hawk noted in his usual laconic fashion. There was no doubting that Benjamin Jones was a storied soldier among many, having served a decade as an Armored Infantryman and three decades more as a Ghost, rotating between Assault, Infiltrator, and Sniper Ghost positions. His record was classified outside of Commando circles, and had two medals to his name — Fallen Blade for getting shot up once on a pirate raid, and the highest distinction of the Magi, the Order of the Triad, earned for single-handedly stopping an attempted antimatter attack on a major city. Among Ghosts, he was considered a hardass of the highest order, which made him appear to be a semi-creepy old guy to those who were not in the know.

"Seyla," SC Garibaldi answered with reverence.

"What supplies will you need for your trip, old guy?" Thomas asked, deliberately ignoring the fact that Benjamin was taking his shower with the shower door open. Every Ghost suffered some claustrophobia to one extent or another from a long haul, and Thomas could sympathize with not wanting to close himself in again just after being freed from the armor.

"Ration bars, a refill on my reactor pack, and a couple of pissed off wolverines for entertainment factor."

"Ration bars and a refill, no prob. You're on your own for the wolverines, bub," Megan noted with a wry bit of humor to voice.

"Okay, we'll skip the wolverines. Better load me up heavy with ammo for my weps, since I intend to go deep. If I have to engage, I'm going to need all the beans and bullets I can get." It went without saying that in such an engagement, he would even have to salvage weapons and ammo from downed enemies, which would not be an altogether bad thing. The all-time 'burned berserkir' Ghost record was three battalions of mechanized infantry and a company of omnimechs, no small feat for one man (woman, in the case of the record-holder), and she lived to tell the tale.

Benjamin's request for extra ammo would be fortuitous even beyond his wildest dreams, given he was inadvertently going to go where no Ghost reasonably expected he would ever have to go...

-x-x-x-

(1 August CE 72, 2215 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol route 3-Yankee, in orbit around Mendel colony)

Flay had anticipated a necessary change in her diet, essentially because military personnel ate different from her normally health-conscious methods. Thus, she decided to reduce her intake of the stuff the cooks were providing, which if she bothered to look it up would be well over her personal intake standards.

In addition to eating, she was working on her notes from her first shift on duty. Flay hadn't expected to cover as much as she did on the sensor systems, much less see how a sensor operator fully participated in a mock battle, but that was her fate for a first day. The Magi even had a name for it: 'Total Immersion Training', nevermind the fun with acronyms that could come from that name. She had taken away multiple lessons from that first session, the first and loudest lesson being to put more faith in herself. The sensors were not a hard task, once you knew how to control them, or so she had been told.

So far, her work with the sensors had been completely isolated from the Flight Control aspect of the job. Among the Magi, a Sensor Operator was two jobs in one — first a radar technician, second a flight coordinator for the mobile forces in the unit. It was her job to disseminate orders to units under her command as delegated by her commander or as she saw need for. At full capacity, she would (eventually) have three Gundams under her command — the Star Admiral was not going to assign lesser units to the ship, no sense wasting space on an Assault Ship when mobile forces capacity was already at a premium.

It was because she was staring at her notes while chowing down that she did not notice the approach of others. "First day go well?"

Flay jolted from the voice, but her tenseness did not last long when she realized that it was Oruga who spoke. He had a meal as well, as did Shani and Clotho. All three took seats across from her, though Clotho and Shani deliberately paid attention to the holosim equipment, not the greenhorn in the room.

"It went long and busy," Flay replied softly. "Yours?"

"We're on lunch, pilots operate on a four-four-four schedule," Oruga said. "Four hours hot in the cockpit, four hours in the breakroom, and four hours in quarters or mess." He took a quick bite of the meal, and apparently it did not phase him at all. "You probably work on a ten-fourteen schedule, though since you're still technically in training they may adjust that after a day or two."

"What are you thinking they may be thinking?" Flay asked.

"I'm thinking the boss is thinking ten hours on your primary, then two or four in physical and basic training. Kind of a combination training program," Oruga admitted.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Flay groused. It was not as if she didn't expect it, and technically she could do the physical training in due time, but doing ten on the sensors and then two or four physical was going to be difficult.

"That's how Gerald broke the three of us in," Oruga admitted. "Granted we didn't need much, but man, he is a beast in physical terms."

"Yeah, CC Lightbringer could give lessons on manliness to the Old Spice Guy," Clotho said offhand, still paying attention mostly to the holosims.

"Just what I need, testosterone poisoning," Flay grumped. "Got a lot of that in the past, here we go again..."

"Well, job hazard, I guess," Oruga shrugged famously.

"Some support you are," Flay replied with enough sarcasm that it was obvious she meant it in jest. "Really, though, I've been in a position where I should be in shape, but I haven't really been in shape, you know?"

"You don't look too bad, really," Oruga said.

"Not looks, and I actually am rather pleased with where I am in those terms," Flay dropped in her own opinion, modesty be damned. "But run a kilometer in short time? Haven't been able to do that since I was seven."

"True, and running is a handy skill from time to time," Oruga admitted.

"Yeah, avoiding flying lead is always good for your health," Shani reinforced the standing opinion.

"Hard to disagree with that," Flay agreed.

"So, why aren't you eating proper, then?" Oruga saked.

"Oh, this is too much — "

"Didn't your Charlie basic instructor long ago go over that?"

"No, they really didn't," Flay replied to Oruga's half-accusatory question.

"Well, when Gerald gets a hold on you, your daily burn is going to go from 1600 to right around 3000. He doesn't screw around, and neither should you. The last thing you want to do is run out of energy when he's hammering on you, or he'll make it worse on you. Shani and Clotho both made that mistake, right guys?"

"Whatever," Clotho griped. Shani didn't answer, his head in a set of professional-style noise-cancelling earphones.

"Well, what should I do?" Flay asked.

"You do two full meals, minimum, and either two MRE entrees or a protein shake, something with a goodly amount of protein in it to get you recovering from the workouts. I know you're not used to it, and it'll feel like you are stuffing yourself, but you stay thin in the military by staying active, not by undereating."

"I hear you, I hear you," Flay grumped.

"I know you hear, but I don't think you know what you're getting into if you run your cal count short." Flay gave him a venomous glare, which led to his endgame. "That said, I'm not going to push and I'm not going to spoon it into you — "

" — But I will, if he won't," Clotho quipped.

"You can be shot, Clotho. We actually have a decent doctor on the ship now," Oruga noted.

"Whooshit," Clotho said in a rush, immediately looking back to the holosim system and specifically away from Oruga or Flay.

"Heh heh," Shani chuckled at the errant pilot.

"Don't you start in on me," Clotho pointed at Shani's head.

"Nah, unlike Oruga, I won't shoot you. I prefer the personal touch; I'll just rip your arm off, beat you with it for a few, then help the surgeon reattach it." Shani had said so in his off-and-on creepy monotone, which caused the short hairs on Flay's arms to go vertical by the time he was done.

"I find your methods of preventing some hazing to be macabre, but efficient," On the voice from behind Shani, all four bolted to standing. "As you were," Century Commander Lightbringer waved them back down to their seats. "Still, the overarching theme is in Oruga's favor, Cadet Allster. Eat your meals hearty, for tomorrow your physical training begins in earnest after your time on the sensor panel. I'll make sure you don't put on any major amount of weight, but you'll need to make sure you don't give out during the training."

Flay didn't physically react to the word from the Century Commander, but internally she dreaded what he meant by 'making sure she didn't put on any weight'. Coming from a middle-aged Magi pilot who looked capable of giving professional athletes a run for their money, she had plenty of directions to go in terms of fear.

-x-x-x-

(2 August CE 72, 2000 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol route 3-Yankee, in orbit around Mendel colony)  
(Control room, CIC / Sensor area)

"You ready for this? I mean, really ready for it?"

"I don't think so, but it will give me a baseline on what I need to work on," Flay answered with more gusto than she really felt. If she screwed the pooch in this run, the effective answer on what she needed work on would be 'everything'. And that would be a disheartening answer, she was sure.

"Well, we'll run a sim with a two-on-two," Commander Grey simplified Flay's oplan. "Who's down in their machine right now?"

"Argus and the boss," Nikko answered, since he was technically the duty sensor and operator at this time.

"Okay, if Lightbringer is on deck, we'll have to crank up the difficulty a bit. Lightbringer alone is capable of scratching two Gundams, so that would skew the results," Carlie Gray thought aloud. "Nikko, plan up a decent challenge, but don't make it extravagant."

"Roger that, I'm on it," Flay's systems instructor answered. "Got everything set." Flay did notice that the radio indicator tripped on the frequency for the Dominion and mobile units. "All forces, be advised begin simulation engagement 2002 hours Zulu. All involved forces to ready stations immediately!"

"Make this a ship-wide dance," Captain Jamestown ordered. "Chief of the watch, wake 'em and shake 'em."

She didn't have to pay attention to the radio band indicators, Flay could hear the intercom pop even through her headphones. "All hands, condition 1 battle stations! Section leaders report ready op when available!"

"Flay, you will command Gerald and Argus. The rest of the controllers will deal with the other units," Commander Gray said sharply. It did not take long for the other two Operators to arrive.

Outside her headphones, Flay could barely hear the sound of the music that signalled the coming of battle stations. _Into The Fire_ by Sabaton, from what Flay had learned to be the totem band of the _Dominion_, echoed throughout the ship to such a degree that Flay was certain that she was hearing it through her skeleton vibrating in time to the song. It was certainly different fare from her usual, and she could definitely understand the 'pump-up value' of the songs on a ship of war.

"Just play it like you have been, Flay, nothing to this," Nikko assured her. "Conn, sensors, section 1 shows no threats."

"Section 2, no threats," one of the other sensor operators said. Flay was yet to learn her name, but the shoulder-length deep purple hair was an attention-getter.

"Section 3, count two tangos on the move, intercept course, ETA 4 minutes. Recommend sortie at this time."

"Section 4, no threats," Flay finished the procession. Attacking an Archangel-class ship from behind was a time-honored tradition of ZAFT, though for some reason she had been assigned to section 4 (rear) for her training and likely for her placement.

"Conn, Sensors, Section 2 reporting straight-shooters on an intercept course, sensors classify as long-range anti-shipping missiles. Verifiable threat to port side, sir!"

"Launch Physialis, launch Heavyarms," Captain Jamestown ordered. "Forbidden and Raider are next."

Flay picked up on the order next: "Heavyarms to port catapult, Physalis to starboard catapult. Heavyarms, we have missiles to the port-side, intercept priority," Flay ordered of her controlled machines. She did not want to start her first sim battle by way of having the ship blown out from under her.

"Heavyarms acknowledges," Argus answered.

"I see two machines on the right, Allster. You want me to scratch them?" Gerald asked.

"Aff, then move to guard position on the _Dominion_'s five o'clock. I have a feeling the missiles on the left are a diversion; Natarle showed me a couple times how it could be done when I was with _Archangel_."

"Solid call. Physalis acknowledges and will execute momentarily." There would be no physical movements in the sim battle, mainly to conserve fuel and minimize wear on the machines, though in all the instrumentation Flay had it showed first Gerald catapulting from the ship, then turning in hard on the approaching machines.

"Command, Heavyarms, reporting six of nine missiles reduced or destroyed. No evidence of launching platform."

"Heavyarms, command, roger that," Flay acknowledged immediately. "Physalis, Command, tango check."

"Tango check as follows: two tangos down, minimum one approaching from ship's four o'clock low. Unable to identify platform that could have launched missiles."

"Raider, Command," Nikko prompted. On her screen the remaining three missiles were wiped out by the CIWS grid. No threat, no problem, as far as Flay was concerned.

"Command, Raider, read clear. Send it!"

"Raider, move to ship's 3 o'clock high and check for tango presence, then move to ship's rear and check."

Four missiles appeared on Flay's screen, halfway in from the launch area of the first group and dead to rear of the ship. "Shit, conn, Sensors, missiles close aboard! Four marks dead to stern, intercept time 2-0 seconds!"

"How the hell?" Nikko asked nobody in particular. "Raider, can you intercept?"

"Out of position, I won't be close for another sixty," Clotho admitted.

"I have them," Gerald answered. In lieu of shooting them down, he closed with each missile and sabered it apart; on Flay's screen, the dot for the Physalis merged into the missile dot, and then the missile disappeared as Gerald moved to the next one. The whole process took no more than 15 seconds by the mission timer. "All contacts intercepted. Command, something may be tailgating the ship."

"Roger that, wait one," Flay killed her radio. "Nikko, how do you check for an invisible enemy?" Flay asked, knowing that if ZAFT stole a Gundam from the Earth Alliance that could be invisible, then theoretically anyone could have that technology.

"Crank your sensors up to maximum, the computers will do the rest," Nikko responded.

"Gotcha," Flay changed the sensor power control from 4 megawatts to 25 megawatts, and after the next pass a new contact showed up. This one was marked with a 'blackhole indicator' that told Flay radar waves were going into it but not coming out, a classic telltale of an invisible enemy. At 25 megawatts sensor power, the interplanetary dust and rock fragments that were hard to see without a microscope would give radar returns, meaning that not seeing some kind of return was suspicious. "Conn, Sensors, blackhole target identified 4 o'clock high at 1000 kilometers, possible bearing change away from the ship."

"Helm, Conn, bring her about 100 degrees to port. Weps, activate Gottfried turrets and missiles for anti-ship work. Damn good call, Flay."

"Calamity, Forbidden, after first volley close with blackhole contact and engage free," Sensors 2 ordered. "Make sure you stay out of the line of fire between the ships, pilots."

"Roger that," Oruga responded immediately.

"Heh heh," Shani answered with only his creepy chuckle, but did turn in on the contact.

"And this is where it gets interesting," the weapons controller said. "Fire solutions released to guns. Wait for the fireworks," he said with a savage tone of voice.

"Conn, sensors, confirm beam strikes on target in blackhole contact, we scorched something," Nikko declared. "Wait — energy reaction! Something — " he was silenced by the contact blossoming to roughly three times its size. "Command, we hit a primary, target cooked off."

"Sweep for survivors, though unlikely," Jamestown answered with a depressed response. "Iit cannot be avoided, when we cannot see the target properly. Regardless, Flay, you made a good series of calls today. Good reactions, good orders, good timeliness and good presence on the commo channels. I see why Gerald hand-picked you for this position, though you are yet to be pushed properly. I think some more — and more difficult — training is in order, though I don't want you to burn out before Gerald starts whipping you into shape."

"Aye, sir," Flay responded, since she really didn't know what to say. For all intents and purposes, her first full-court Sim was a blowout, which was a hard result to argue with.

"All right, Commander Grey, I want a full report on the sim action from start to finish no later than Midnight."

"Already on it," Carlie responded.

"Chief of the watch, signal stand-down."

"All hands, secure from Condition One and break out a brewski, this one is done," the Chief said over the intercom. Any drinks applied only to persons off-duty, and only one per victory. Getting caught drunk on the job was a court-martial offense and Gerald would (did) enforce it.

-x-x-x-

(4 August CE 72, 1000 Hours Lima (1500 Hours UTC))  
(Municipal Building, Springfield, Illinois, Atlantic Federation Territory)

"We're not really expecting the space-monsters to get this far on the ground, but their air force may range to Springfield, so..."

"And what difference will it make?" The building maintenance manager groused.

"Well, anything is better than nothing, which is better than Mendel's stick in your eye," the decidedly-male Blue Cosmos foot-soldier said to the decidedly-not-male maintenance manager. She took his comment in the worst possible way, both against him and against Mendel.

"Okay, on the assumption that I allow this," and she referred to the incoming 'Resistance Kit' with clear disdain, "what exactly am I supposed to do with it? There may be a whopping dozen in the building with any manner of firearms training."

"We hold weekly seminars on resistance and clearing operations. You go to one of the seminars and talk to one of the instructors, they can set up a building-wide training session or a department-wide training session on use and care of these beauties." He patted the case twice with affection.

"And what is this going to do besides get us killed?" she asked fairly.

"If you hit one of their fighters with one of these surface-to-air missiles, no more fighter," he incorrectly judged. The missile in question was a rebuild and update of the old United States FIM-92 Stinger short-range SAM. Even with a double-power warhead, it would be hard-pressed to damage the armor of most Magi fighters, much less anything with more dense or heavier armor (such as ground armor units).

"Why the rifles?" The Clerk of the Courts asked. "You can't expect us to take shots at a heavy fighter-bomber with a rifle, that's asinine."

"The rifles aren't for Mendel, and even their infantry wouldn't be scratched by a mere assault rifle. These are for the Coordinator sympathizers and anarchists that will be coming out of the woodwork as soon as Mendel lands. Kinda like the French Resistance in WW2, they played a long and slow game against the Nazis, but as soon as the Limey hordes landed, the resistance went into overdrive trying to overthrow their rightful overlords. Same thing here, only you're not going after resistance so much as you're looking for anarchists and opportunists."

The maintenance manager nodded solemnly. She wasn't Blue Cosmos, but she didn't want Mendel's dick in her affairs — or her eye. Same with any Mendel sympathizers. "Okay, how many kits would you need for the facility?"

The Blue Cosmos trooper scratched his head, considering it thoroughly. "How many people at full capacity?"

"400, give or take," she said in response.

"1 kit is for roughly 25 people, so you're going to need 16 kits. If you're not at full cap, when the balloon goes up you can send the weps home with your people or they can come in to get them and fight here," he rattled off the standard procedure for such things.

"And if we need more ammo or reinforcements?" the Clerk of Courts asked.

"We don't expect to have to hammer on them for more than three or four days, but if you do need reloads, we have phone numbers and radio channels on the inside of each container," he said, not realizing that phone or communication infrastructure would be a prime target for those airstrikes the civilians were supposed to shoot at.

"That's good to know," the Clerk sighed mightily. "I still can't believe we now have to consider being invaded by the space monsters. This is our home, our planet! What the fuck?"

"It's the name of the game, amigo," the BC rep consoled him. "Give them a length and they'll go the whole freaking mile. Only problem is, they're getting too big for their britches, so we'll shut 'em down when they try bring the fight to us."

"Then what?" The maintenance manager asked.

"We kill them all, clean out the colonies, and repopulate them for our own people." Said with all the confidence of someone assured of his place in the world, he came off as slightly smug to the others but completely in grasp of the problems at hand.

"I like that plan," the Clerk said. The Maintenance Manager blanched at the implied level of carnage, but held her peace.

"Well, if you want in to Blue Cosmos, we are accepting new hires. Just go to one of the seminars and talk to a recruiter. We've even had personnel operating in Mendel for some time, so nobody is outside our reach." He deliberately did not say that those personnel had a very short average lifespan, mainly because that story was not circulating through BC as it should be. Someone on high was squelching news of their repeated failures in the belly of the beast, so all that was getting down to the troops was news that operations were happening.

"I'm a bit long in the tooth for wet-work, but I do agree with your cause," the Clerk brushed off the attempted recruiting dance. "I do donate, though."

"Keep us in mind, and keep these kits in mind," the BC trooper knocked on the outside of the case. "Every little bit helps in the long run."

The BC Trooper, in all his naivete on the art of Mobile Warfare as practiced by a Star Empire, had no real knowledge of how grossly he was consigning civilians to death.

-x-x-x-

(10 August CE 72, 1630 hours)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol route 2-Echo, in orbit around Mendel colony)  
(Control room, CIC / Sensor area)

"Conn, sensors, I show only contact in area is freighter _Sailboat Reborn_," Flay noted in a semi-bored fashion. She was serving a partial watch alone, with only Commander Grey to work with, given her meteoric advance in sensor skill and command presence. There was even talk among some of the crew to chip in to have her IQ checked, to see if she could really stack up against a Coordinator in raw learning potential as some thought she could.

"Sensors, Conn, aye," Commander Grey answered from the command chair. With Jamestown out and asleep, command devolved to her...not that anyone expected anything to happen any time soon. The Earth Allliance was still gearing up for the next major scrap, and not really in a position to start any shit right now, so...

It was several minutes before anything else was said on the Bridge. "Conn, Weps, Gottfried 2 is back online after routine maintenance. All systems show green."

"Conn, aye," Carlie replied in a bored fashion.

It was in the silence of the moment that Carlie had a flash of thought completely unrelated to the job at hand. "Flay, you willing to answer a personal question?"

Flay bit at the chance for any meaningful conversation. "Might, Commander. Ask away."

"It's obvious to any of us bridge-bunnies that you and Oruga are dancing. How'd you meet?"

Flay wasn't really prepared for that question, but she figured it innocuous enough. "Well, I noticed him hanging loose at the Sniper Bar and Grill, so I took a chance. Had the Barkeep give him a drink and tape my number to the bottom of the glass, see if he got the message. He didn't miss that chance."

"Wow. A bar attempt actually worked? That is against the odds," Carlie groused, given her success rate in such endeavors was negative.

"Okay, how'd you go from Oruga's semi-girlfriend to a contender for a position on the Dominion?" the Weps controller asked in series.

"I used to be Earth Alliance personnel on the _Archangel_. Not that I actually did anything useful, mind you. That, and apparently the Boss sees something in people from time to time, is my best guess. I didn't think I had any redeeming qualities for the position," Flay semi-lied. She didn't think she had any qualities that put her in line for the ship, but she sure as hell was not going to tell them about the sting operation she laid on prior to going undercover. At least not yet, for it was too good a story to not tell.

"We'll, you're here and not soaking up space in an office building. Hard to beat that," Carlie said with a clear hint of approval.

"Yeah, it's a different world out here, sitting behind armor and guns, rather than manufacturing armor and guns. Can't believe I didn't enlist."

"You liked this?" the gunnery officer asked.

"Not actively, but I became used to it," Flay thought aloud. "Mostly, it was my routine after Heliopolis was destroyed. Long periods of boredom interspersed with a few moments of terror. Like I said, when the battle klaxons went off, I really didn't have any manner of job function except hide in my quarters and hope for the best." She also was not going to discuss her manipulation of a certain former EA / now Orb pilot, and that was absolute. The only person she suspected knew the story was Gerald Lightbringer, and she hoped it stayed that way.

"The fear never goes away," Carlie admitted. "Even when you're doing something in the middle of an engagement, you will have fear. If you don't have that one precious emotion, you do stupid shit and get yourself or your buddies killed."

Flay nodded, though said nothing directly. It was an interesting lesson from an old-hand Magi officer — supposedly the gold standard of fearless asskicking. "What about Gerald or Wayne, ma'am?"

"They have their fears," the Weps officer said. "Fear for themselves, less so. For Gerald, his is operational: a fear of commanding into a losing battle, or commanding a force into oblivion. The Star Admiral, well, his is societal: he is now the de facto colony administrator of several million citizens, and has to keep them safe and sound. They are not fearless under fire, but their duties override that fear."

Flay did not continue the conversation; she had seen who the latest arrival on the bridge was. "Oblivion is an unlikely fate for any under my command," Century Commander Lightbringer noted. "You are otherwise right. The game changes quite a bit when you get up a few ranks. Yours will be the same, Flay, but for different reasons. For now, focus on saving your own arse, and that is motivation enough. In time, you will concern less about that and more on husbanding your subordinate mobile units."

Flay couldn't help but giggle at his choice of old-world phrasing, even though she knew it was a puerile schoolgirl thing to do. Still, the sheer absurdity of two very straight-laced Magi Gundam pilots in some manner of illicit same-gender relationship was deeply hilarious to Flay.

Gerald either took no notice or brushed it off. "Carlie, we have two incoming friendly machines to add to the unit. Should be here in the next few minutes. Park them in cubicles 9 and 10 for now, we'll sort out locations later, follow?"

"Aff, sir. If I may ask who?"

"Oh no, I'm leaving that as a surprise," Gerald said. "Flay, your range gates are standard space right now, quiaff?"

"Aye, sir," Flay answered.

"Next ten seconds or so, you should pick up the units," Gerald said.

It was seven seconds for the first to show up, and another two seconds for the second. "Conn, sensors, show two Magi units approaching in formation, time to intercept is 5 minutes."

"Sensors, identify units," Carlie didn't like surprises.

"Standby one," Flay answered automatically. It would take her a few moments to ping the IFF systems inside the oncoming units and get readbacks. Her answer was available thirty seconds later. "Conn, Sensors, reporting first unit is RX-78GP03S Gundam Stamen, pilot is Wendy Barus. Second unit is GX-9901-ME1 Gundam Double-X Mendel CQB Variant, pilot Alicia Yamato."

"Just exactly who I asked for," Gerald noted. "Perfect! With those two aces on deck, we can really start cleaning house in the coming training work."

"Doesn't that skew the odds, sir?" Carlie asked.

"Not really," Gerald fronted his opinion. "A ship like this, without a mobile forces complement, is roughly as useless as tits on a boar hound. Mobile forces without a ship have striking value but extremely limited strategic mobility and limited usefulness against hardened or naval targets. Combine the two, and suddenly the value of both ship and forces doubles. Hard equation to argue with, I think."

Flay said nothing, but absorbed the lesson. She wasn't expecting to ever have to use it, but...

-x-x-x-

(18 August CE 72, 1045 hours)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol route 6-Delta, in orbit around Mendel colony)  
(Cargo Hold 3-Port)

"Move it! Move it up! All of ya!" Gerald looked to a different part of the crate maze. "You too, Melody! Move it like you have a purpose!" He shouted at the second Sensor Operator.

_Drill Sergeant Nasty, in the flesh_, Flay thought but definitely did not say. In all reality, she could not spare the breath to say anything short of 'aff' or 'neg' should Gerald ask something, mainly because she needed the oxygen for her runs around the obstacle course loop.

"Don't give me cause to prove you right, Allster! Move your ass!" Gerald barked at her. After a day or two of the training regimen, it had become apparent to everyone involved that the Century Commander had at least limited telepathy and could hear their curses and complaints even when unstated. He had claimed it a subset of his newtype skills, but Flay wasn't a hundred percent sure. "I'm nowhere near the level of Drill Sergeant Nasty, **yet**, but I'm pretty sure I can get there in a hurry, so hurry your ass up that ladder!"

Flay finished the climb up the number three ladder onto the upper catwalks, where Gerald had stacked fuel bladders as something of an agility trainer. She ran toward, dodging left, right, left, right, as a football player would train to move around defensive opponents. At the end of the catwalk, she had to clear a low crate and sprint to the right to the end, where a rope net was waiting for her to descend to the floor and start the course again.

"Damnit Alicia! You still have ten seconds to shave off your last run! Don't make me motivate you!" Gerald shouted up toward the top of the crate stacks where Flay had been thirty seconds prior.

Flay had learned a slightly reckless but very efficient way to get down a rope net. She found that she could do every other step as two rungs down the ladder, not a single step after a single step. This shaved a few seconds off her run, and in this case a few seconds was what counted. Gerald was quite a bit more demanding on physical training than Flay expected.

"Three seconds behind runtime! Twelve pushups, Wendy, and add two magazines to your load for your next run," Gerald ordered as the Gundam Pilot known best as Angel Three came to a stop at the jumpoff line.

"Yes, sir!" Wendy shouted before she dropped down to begin her pushups.

"You're five seconds off, Flay. Twenty push-ups and two magazines for your last run."

"Aff, sir!" Flay gasped as she dropped down next to Wendy Barus to do her push-ups. After two weeks of this challenge, Flay was starting to get enough into shape that she could go the whole series before crapping out, which was actually better than Melody and a couple of the engine techs, but nowhere near Alicia or Gerald himself. Someone in the crew had the audacity to challenge Lightbringer on his standards for the course, which was 100 seconds per lap. Gerald had tossed his stopwatch to the offending party, requested a start, and did the whole course in 63 seconds with no errors, a record that stood unchallenged since the training regimen began.

Flay bolted up after her last push-up, ran over to the table, and picked up two training magazines for the training assault rifle slung over her shoulder. The magazines went into her web gear magazine pouches and she returned to the jumpoff line. "Ready, sir!"

"Move it!" Gerald clicked his stopwatch again, which was a smart device that would track each trainees times individually by RFID plates in their web gear. The gear itself was used as a strength training aid, and the weight could be adjusted all the way up to 200 kilos weight for the largest Elemental troopers to train on, or down to 10 kilos for support / Techstriker crew members to train on. With the new magazines, Flay was hefting 18 kilos of weight in her harness — still below a common combat load, but she was getting there.

"You grease-monkeys must not be very motivated today! What say I double your pushups for how much you're lagging?" Gerald shouted at the two engine mechanics that were working their way (slowly) down the rope ladder. On such a threat, they picked up the pace.

Flay made it to the first ladder after weaving through through the container maze on a pre-set course at the best run speed she could give. 100 seconds was technically generous for the course, especially after Gerald proved it could be done well under par, and she had learned to pace herself quickly or she would burn out three laps of five into it. Once up the ladder, the journey to the ramp up to the second level of coursework was ten containers and two notable jumps away.

"Alicia, seven seconds behind schedule, 28 pushups. Add two mags and a pair of LAWS trainers when you are ready to resume," Flay could hear as she passed by the jumpoff line on top of the container stack next to it.

"Sir!" the Gundam pilot shouted as she dropped to do her obligatory pushups.

Once up the ramp, there was one small and one notable jump before the third-level major hazard — a zip-line to the port-side of the challenge area and the second ladder. Of course, a net was in place to catch someone if their arms gave out when zipping across, and Flay had failed here on her fourth lap of the first day, but it was not the worst challenge possible.

"Wendy, full set, neutral time for your last run, good game."

"Thanks, old man," Wendy gasped out as she doubled over at the jumpoff line. Flay had just a few seconds to see the senior pilot stop and stretch before she landed at the far side of the zip-line station.

On the far side of the course, Flay had another series of small gaps to jump and a significant one — again with a cargo net to catch someone if they missed the landing — and a total of seven cargo containers to cross to get to the third ladder.

"Move it, Flay! You're behind schedule almost ten seconds!"

Flay hit the third ladder and rushed up it with the same technique that Gerald had demonstrated when he had been challenged. It took a lot of energy — or very good physical conditioning — to go up a ladder two runs at a time, but Flay had seen it and she could copy it, albeit only once a run at this time. She wanted to challenge Gerald's course record before she retired, though some part of her was doubting ever getting to that point.

"You engine bunnies are getting your asses beat by the bridge bunnies! What the hell are you trying to accomplish here?" Gerald half-shouted at the two mechanics. "Twenty pushups and twenty-eight pushups, then add your two mags and move your asses!"

The two ladies shouted their acknowledgement as Flay cleared over the low hurdle and made her catwalk sprint to the cargo net. On the way down, Gerald sent off the two mechanics for their last runs, and Flay caught a glimpse of the first one at the zip-line run as she landed on the deck for her last sprint. This one she put all into, in hopes that she could neutral her time.

"C'mon! Almost there — clear!" Gerald clicked his stopwatch system. "Damn good last run, half a second over time. Two pushups and you're on break, Allster."

"Aff, Century Commander," she gasped as the sensor operator dropped down for her last. Comparative to the rest of the run, two pushups was a cinch and easily dealt with. "Agh, good to be done," Allster sighed as she leaned up against one of the cargo containers, still wearing her full harness and the training rifle.

"You're getting into battery faster than I expected, kid. Might have to start cranking up the difficulty on you."

On hearing Gerald's musing, Flay deflated with a groan. "This is gonna suck," she said after a brief second running over possible gripes in her head, of which she had many.

"Oh, fret not, I was just going to add drop-leg platforms to your gear harness, a training pistol, and training weights for associated gear. Nothing major," Gerald said with a clear grin. "I'm a Century Commander, not a Marquis De Sade. There is a difference," Gerald noticed the venomous looks from the pilots and the other Sensor Operator. "Okay, slight difference. Very slight difference."

"Not enough difference to fool me, old man," Wendy replied acidly.

Gerald grunted in acknowledgment of his teammate having the right of it. "Well well, slacker alpha, slacker bravo," the Century Commander noted as the two engine mechanics finished up their run. "Again, five and eight seconds behind. You know the drill, kiddies."

"Yes, sir," the two engine mechanics answered in a very tired wheeze. Before a second elapsed, both were on the ground and completing their pushups.

"All right, Flay, since your shift begins in an hour, you need to get cleaned up and get some grub in you. Afterward, I want you to report to the Stateroom for a review of standards. We'll determine what is next for you after that. Melody, your workout is just beginning, so your next station is resistance training. Alicia and Wendy, grappling work. Engine mechanics, you two are on climbing practice since that is your fail point for the day."

Flay missed seeing everyone disperse as she was departing the cargo hold for the shower rooms. Since Mendel had a running deal with the USSA to provide as much water as was needed for military and civilian affairs, the _Dominion_ had no restrictions on showering or other cleanliness tasks. The one thing she had not liked about her time on the _Archangel_ was the water rationing in space, and so far there was no sign of needing to do so here.

Thankfully, the distance to the showers from the training cargo hold was minimal — only a minute's hard march, even still wearing all of her training gear. It would not be long before Flay began piecing together her own set of full, proper combat gear, though she did not expect to get into any gunfights any time soon. After the war was concluded one way or the other, however, she did expect hell from the remnants of Blue Cosmos, and she wanted to be ready for it.

-x-x-x-

(21 September CE 72, 2200 hours)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol route 1-Hotel, in orbit around Mendel colony)  
(Bridge)

"Allster, your shift is up," Captain Jamestown noted after the bell rang for the 22nd hour.

"Permission to step down?"

"Neg, Century Commander Lightbringer has something for you. He will be here —" The Captain was interrupted by the door opening. "Speaking thereof..."

"Oh yes, the devil is in the house," Gerald quipped in response. "And actually, I am here to pull Flay for a new round of training. On me, kid."

"Aff, sir," Flay practically jumped out of her seat and fell in behind the Century Commander. She was reasonably confident this did not involve physical training, because she had already done her PT for the day.

"I shall wager you are trying to narrow down the list of things this might involve," Gerald began pensively as they turned down a corridor that Flay never went down except when doing jogging in the halls. "Well, every incoming recruit has several batteries of standards before their MOS standards. You've put yourself well on the right path to PT standard, so no fault there. You are also well versed in the legal standards, so no complaints in that column. Basic equipment and machinery standards are still up in the air — we have not had much room to do those tests, but not a big deal. Next time we hit the colonies, we'll work that over."

With that process of elimination, Flay knew exactly what was coming next. The fourth standard was —

Gerald stopped in front of the armory, which was commanded by a Chief Warrant Officer who had a goatee of evil and a stern look at any passers-by. "Century Commander, how may I help you?" he requested after he braced to attention.

"As you were, Jeeves." the CWO relaxed back to his position. "I have a weapons battery to run on Flay Allster, and while I would prefer to do this at the Marine Training Center or the firing ranges on the _Mjolnir_, we're not due for any dock time for a couple of months, so..."

"I hear you, sir. Simulates for the heavy weapons?" the CWO said.

"Aye, except have the engineers been able to get the EDF fields working?"

"Yes, sir, except they can't withstand a plasma cannon blast. PPCs and lasers are fine," the CWO said, thoroughly confusing Flay. She knew what a laser was, but not a PPC or a plasma cannon.

"Shit and Happens, happily married long ago," Gerald quipped. "Pop the hatch, if you would, good sir."

"A pleasure," and the CWO pulled his codex to insert it into a wall panel that had no equivalent on the Archangel. The armory was in the same place, but Flay had a feeling that the Magi had a far different standard for size and scope of an armory on a ship.

With a series of key presses, the armory door unlocked with a metallic clang and Gerald opened it up. As the door swung wide, Flay realized why it was so loud, given the six-centimeter steel bolts that held it in place against prying it open. On the inside, she was not surprised to find that the armory was every bit as big as she expected.

Once inside, she realized it was even larger than she expected. The armory had enough arms to outfit everyone in the ship — all crew, pilots, and even the passengers — with a pistol and some kind of second (primary) weapon. She also saw weapons dedicated to the Armored Marines, weapons that could not be reasonably used by someone outside of armor, though they were necessarily fewer in number. The ship only had ten of the Armored Marines, but a crew complement in excess of a hundred.

"It is a unique smell, an armory," Gerald said. "Since the Shipwright team was gracious enough to relocate the firing range up to here, we don't have to cart our weapons down a level and partway across the ship any more. It cost us a cross-corridor and 100 tons of cargo space, but it is worth it," Gerald opined. "As I am covering your melee weapon skills and unarmed combat in PT, all we have to worry about is gear selection and arms usage. First things being first, I want to see what you know, follow?"

"Aff, sir," Flay braced to attention.

"What is the primary weapon of the infantryman, even in this day and age?" Gerald asked directly.

"The assault rifle, sir," Flay answered stoically.

"Why?"

"Because a rifle is the best weapon for most forms and ranges of combat, and an assault rifle is an automatic weapon, with detachable magazines and an intermediate or full-size caliber round capable of doing business at most common combat ranges, sir," Flay answered from her Blue Cosmos training.

"Almost perfect," Gerald gauged. "One other thing the Magi consider is that assault rifles are commonly also light and easily maneuverable in close quarters or around obstacles, though not all assault rifles will fit that definition. An old Heckler and Kock G3 Assault Rifle is by no means as easily maneuverable as a M4A1, a FAMAS or the Earth Alliance SB-9 Battle Rifle, but don't doubt for a minute that a G3 can ruin your day in a hurry if you let it."

"Sir," Flay acknowledged.

"Most troops also carry a pistol. Why?"

"A pistol is often a backup weapon, or if quarters are too tight to use a rifle, a pistol is an optimal weapon for room clearing."

"You overreached there a bit, kiddo," Gerald said. "Pistol as a backup? Yes. Pistol being optimal for room clearing? Only in extremis. If you have a shotgun, that is a damn good weapon for room clearing. What other uses can you put to a shotgun?"

"Door breaching, special munitions, riot control, and acquiring dinner from local game if you have no other supplies."

"Damn good answer," Gerald said. "Light machine guns. How many should you have per ten troops?"

"Four, sir."

"Blue Cosmos likes it savage," Gerald groused. "Most armies use two per ten or three per ten, but four is acceptable. Always bring enough gun to a fight, and more than enough gun is also acceptable. Grenades; when do you use them, when do you not use them?"

"You do not use a grenade when you chance killing a civilian," Flay responded immediately. Blue Cosmos had no such distinction, but the Magi did. Fragging a civilian was a very good way to get drummed out, court martialed, or other nasty fates among the Star Empires. "You also do not use grenades in proximity to explosive or reactive stores, such as fuel tanks or ammo crates."

"Wise call. I've buried a few Marines over the years that fragged themselves in that fashion. When are the best times to use grenades?"

"When an enemy is hiding behind solid cover and not presenting a clear shot, when an enemy is in a fortified position and needs to be flushed out, or when clearing rooms suspected to be held by heavy enemy presence."

"You have the basics down pat, sounds like. As much as I disdain saying so, sounds like your prior instructors had a good training regimen. Now, lab time: assemble a combat and basic sustainment gear and harness kit."

"Sir," Flay began looking around for the necessary bits and pieces as Gerald took a seat on a barstool someone had left in the room. The first part of the list was an armor carrier, which would be the basis of everything she had to carry. On that went rifle magazine pouches, pistol magazine pouches, an equipment pouch, a radio pouch, a hydration carrier, a knife sheath, a sustainment pouch (for MREs), and an IFAK (5). She added a pistol belt to the bottom of the armor carrier, and from it went two drop-leg pouches. On the left leg panel she added some extra pistol magazines and a couple grenade pouches. On the right she put her pistol and a fold-out dump bag for retaining magazines or other gear. Before she actually began loading the pouches with the necessary gear, she took the time to fit the vest to her form and adjust all the straps so nothing was too loose or too tight. By the time she was done, the whole vest kit and equipment weighed in at roughly 25 kilos, a weight she was just beginning to get comfortable with in her training.

"Standing ready for inspection, sir!" Flay announced as she came to attention. This was one subject she had been studying since she joined the _Dominion_, as she knew she would have to do so eventually.

"Not bad, but one thing," Gerald said as he stood up from the stool. "You're outfitted a bit light for our standards. You have a 3-by-3 for rifle mags; while that is by the book, most troops will either do a 3-by-3 and a 2-by-3 for 15 mags on vest, or they will do a pair of 3-by-3 shingles, for 18 mags total. Remember the defensive mindset when you plan your engagements; you can expect to face numbers well in excess of your own, so be prepared for that manner of fight. Some days, 9 plus 1 mags just isn't enough enema for the assholes you'll have to deal with out there."

"He's right, kid," the CWO said from behind Gerald. "Also, save yourself some room up front. Move your radio to your side or back and add a lapel mike to make it usable. Slap on a couple more mag shingles or a 'nade pouch and you're ready to kick ass."

"Agreed, but worry about it later," Gerald said. "For now, we begin the weapons phase of the testing. Grab a can of pistol ammo and head for the range."

-x-x-x-

(2 October CE 72, 0630 hours)  
(Indianapolis Airport, Indianapolis, United States territory, Atlantic Federation)

"This is where it has to happen, people," Benjamin heard the foreman shout over the sounds of the conveyor belts in the building. "We don't know when the balloon will go up, and we don't know where they will be coming in, but Indianapolis, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Saint Louis are our main points of communication. When they come down from their ivory towers, we will have to route a lot of military freight through here to throw these assholes off planet once and for all. That means you all have to be in top shape! Are you with me?"

Though the response was loud and resounded throughout the old baggage facility, Ghost Instructor Jones could tell it was half-hearted in total. These were men who did not give a shit, otherwise they would have been in a Blue Cosmos or Earth Alliance recruiting line rather than a baggage handling facility in an airport that was expected to be well behind the lines.

Of course, the Command Level did not assign the most senior Ghost in the fleet to scout out an airport without the intention of making some manner of noise here.

Benjamin did not remain for the rest of the pump-up speech, given that he had heard the same thing said more than once before, on planets these xenophobes had never heard of, by terrorists that were actually mildly threatening to the Magi. Since the tug doors were open in the building, all the Ghost had to do was walk out toward the next freight building over to continue his inspections. There wasn't really much to inspect or map out at Indianapolis International — in terms of airports, it wasn't very big. Two full-length runways and one short-length runway, a couple dozen buildings and four terminals. Merely walking onto the airport constituted half his mapping job, given the small form factor lent itself to easy scouting.

And, in all reality, Indianapolis was slated as a secondary drop location, not a primary. Maybe a Trinary dropped here to raise hell, maybe a Cluster, or maybe just ZAFT using it to piss in the pool, nothing special. If things were going to go down, the likely target would be O'Hare — something with far better facilities and ramp space to accommodate the incoming cans of whoopass. In fact, his fifth airport to check would be O'Hare, after he did Dayton and Cleveland. The options made the military campaign, after all.

Inside the next freight terminal, Ben took clear note that the military movement of materials had already begun here, given the impact-resistant creates of Stinger-U anti-air missiles moving along the conveyor belt. He also noted that the personnel involved gave no impression of this being out of the ordinary, or were adroitly professional about what was going on. Benjamin made notes on the numbers of crates and their throughput on the shipping systems, as a rough estimate on how much firepower was headed out to who-knows-where.

A door opened up to Benjamin's right, and two ladies exited from what appeared to be a bathroom. "Man, that Captain is such a dick."

"I know, another one of those 'God's great gift to womankind' kinda perverts," the second lady commented.

"Blue Cosmos is full of those kinds of assholes," the first lady said. "I'm glad I washed out of their training, another couple of weeks of being chased around by every swinging dick on base and I would have gone berserk. I don't know how that Allster kid could handle that, especially being hit on four times more than me."

"She must have been one serious hardass to hang in with that kind of pressure. Or she enjoyed it."

"I don't think she did," the former BC trainee lady thought aloud. "I could tell she was kinda heartbroken about something when she was in there, and she wasn't flipping her skirt at any of the guys, so she must have just taken the catcalls."

Benjamin made fair to follow, so he could see if he could pick up any further information. He had heard some noise from one of the _Dominion_ Pilots about a girl named Allster, and if she was trying to make moves on a Gundam pilot in the same unit as the Century Commander, that was some serious shit that had to be sent up the flagpole. Unfortunately, before he could follow them more than a hundred yards, they went up into the catwalks of the higher-level sorting equipment but not before the conversation broke off.

On further inspection, Benjamin noted that surface-to-air missiles was not the only thing being routed through this cargo terminal. Light Machine Guns, assault rifles, ammunition aplenty was also moving through, as well as parts for armor units (tanks, artillery, similar). Handling procedures for the equipment was exceedingly sloppy, with missile tubes and machine guns piled in carts to be reclaimed at a later time.

_Blue Cosmos must not have the appropriate security personnel to guard this equipment. I think I can find a better use for it_, Benjamin though with a smile to his face. A section of rope and some box tape was all he needed to secure five of the Stinger missiles together with a light machine gun, to which he simply looped them around a mounting stud on the back surface of his shield for easy transport. If nothing else, he could disassemble the missiles and analyze them to determine weaknesses in the platform, always a handy bit of knowledge when those missiles might be flying toward one's comrades.

Father down the misroute / reclaim line, Benjamin came across several cans of linked ammo for the light machine gun, a happy find for a surplus weapon Benjamin figured would be handy for generating confusion in enemy ranks if he had to do sabotage or assault missions. These he secured by stacking six of the cans together and taping them liberally to prevent them rattling together as he walked. In the environs of a cargo hub, the sound of box tape being applied was symphonic, expected, and extremely unlikely to draw attention in any fashion. In this, Benjamin got away clean with the application of a third of a roll of tape, and another section of rope allowed him to hang the ammo cans off the back of his shield opposite the missile tubes. All in all, an excellent haul if he ever had to go to guns to get himself out of a nasty situation.

The presence of a truck safety kit nearby a forklift door, and a five-gallon bucket of mineral spirits that someone was using to degrease parts for repair, gave Benjamin an idea. Outside the nearby bay door was a maintenance truck, and on it another bucket of the mineral spirits. A simple snatch and return to the tables of recovered misroutes was the beginning of his plan; inside the truck safety kit was a road flare, which would be more than ample to set off the burn without doing so immediately, and all the assault rifle ammo in the area would detonate sympathetically, shutting down the terminal for days at the minimum.

With the bucket in place, Benjamin looked around to make sure nobody was nearby. Assured clear of personnel, he struck the flare and dropped it on top of the bucket lid, which he figured would give roughly twenty seconds for him to de-ass the area with all necessary quickness. With the plan in motion, the Ghost Instructor walked out the nearby bay door and diagonally across the ramp away from the building and to the north. The airport security would be looking for people that would flee to other buildings as the potential saboteur, they certainly would not expect the miscreant to march across the airport in clear view of everything moving this fine and sunny day.

Just after he cleared the lee of the building, the fire alarms went off, though a classic water suppression system would only serve to spread the mineral spirits around, since they would not mix with water. The chain reaction was set, and Blue Cosmos would definitely be taking a hit to their supply chain tonight.

-x-x-x-

(16 October CE 72, 1000 hours)  
(Warship _Dominion_, In holding pattern nearby ZAFT station Armory One)  
(Bridge)

"Attention ZAFT forces, this Star Admiral Centara, Mendel Protectorate. This is a call to combat for a dual-purpose Trial. Captain Talia Gladys, are you active on this channel?" Wayne asked from the bridge of the _Montgomery_, which was overseeing the Trial.

"I read you, Star Admiral. State your position," she said as was expected of the Trial proceedings.

"You have requested a Trial Of Possession for the design schematics of the Naval Particle Cannons used by the Magi. This Trial is wagered against construction slots that are being made available in the PLANTs for both Mobile Suits and Warships. It is the opinion of the Protectorate Grand Council that this is a comparable challenge with appropriate bids and that the Trial should commence. Do you wish to continue the Trial, Captain?"

"Aff, Star Admiral," Talia responded immediately. The shipwrights in the PLANTs had grown a quick woody when someone made mention that they could conduct a ritual duel over things such as designs in the possession of the Magi. The unstated caveat was that someone had to win that Trial, but such were mere details to the construction workers. It would be Talia flapping her arse out in the wind to make their dreams reality. Of course, Chairman Durandal agreed to the process, so things would move forward from here...

"Very well, what forces do you bid for the Trial?"

"I bid a Naval Star of two Laurasia and three Nazca-class ships, to include carried Mobile Forces." It was not much of a bid, given they were challenging Mendel on home grounds for their technology, but

"Very well, you shall face off against a single equivalent ship, specifically warship _Dominion_, and its complement of Mobile Forces. Warship _Dominion_, Captain Soritz Jamestown, are you active on this channel?"

"Aff, Star Admiral," the former Jump Engineer replied immediately. "I stand ready to defend the Empire as requested."

"Very well. _Dominion_, this Trial shall also serve as your Trial of Position for the rating of Veteran Assault Ship among the touman. A successful outcome serves as grounds for promotion to the listed honor forthwith. Are your forces ready at this time?"

"Acknowledged, Star Admiral. We stand ready," the older Jump Engineer replied stoically.

"As the challenging party, Captain Gladys, you may declare the terms of combat," Wayne continued the process.

"One engagement, no restrictions on arsenal, simulated attacks and munitions per ZAFT-Mendel training combat guidelines, with no use of outside sensors or reconnaissance during the battle. As is custom, you may now declare your choice of location for battle, Star Admiral," Talia returned the field to him.

"I choose we do battle in training zones Alpha and Bravo, with no restriction of movement in those areas. Departure from those bounds constitutes forfeiture of those units that depart. Combat begins at 1030 hours Zulu time." Wayne said, giving the two teams plenty of room to maneuver.

"I agree to the terms," Talia closed her end of the deal.

"Well bargained and done," Wayne completed the Batchall (6) to finalize the Trial.

-x-

"Remember, ladies and gentlemen, we have all studied the ship's combat data and techniques, but that was for the _Archangel_," Commander Yzak Joule reminded everyone on his radio network. "The damn Legged Ship was lucky. These guys are going to be experts and probably just as lucky as the first ship of the class. Whatever you think you know, double it in their favor and expect more."

Two ships away, Shinn Asuka simply snorted at Yzak's warning. Since that first defeat by his 'assistant' Shiho, Shinn had doubled down on everything — training, maneuver work, gunnery, and though he would not admit it, arrogance. He felt he was ready to take on their best, and was willing to show it today.

"Second warning: they have two of their best on the field today: Gerald Lightbringer and Wendy Barus. Angel Zero and Angel Three, respectively. I don't think I have to tell you what happens if you ignore the Angel Team long enough, understood?"

Someone on the channel answered affirmative, but Shinn paid it no heed. _These pukes are not supermen, and only half of them are Coordinators or better. We can take them_, he thought but did not say.

"Final advisory: the _Dominion_ has been their testbed ship for new processes and integrating Magi technology into local designs. The original _Archangel_ was lucky to put accurate fire down on us 5 percent of the time. I expect _Dominion_ will be a lot more effective. Expect surprises and expect fierce resistance from the enemy ship; only dedicated anti-ship units are to engage _Dominion_ prior to shoot-down of all enemy forces, at which point remaining units will close and swarm. No hero bullshit from anyone in this engagement, and that includes you, Asuka."

"What? Why me?" Shinn asked in what was effectively an insubordinate fashion.

"Because I know your attitude, pilot. I used to be worse than you are now, and I got my ass kicked repeatedly for it by a team that technically cannot defeat the guys you are about to face. You may think you've got some kind of edge, some kind of plan, but give Wendy Barus five seconds and a clear shot at you, and your game is over. I guarantee it."

Shinn snorted audibly. "Yeah, right, sir. I don't intend to give any of them a clear shot at me until after I bury them all."

"I'll bet you five hundred c-bills you can't back that up," Yzak replied with confidence. "And before you say it, yes, I **do** have the green to back it up."

"If you two are through with the machismo, we have a battle to go to," Captain Gladys chided the two pilots.

-x-

"Command, Unicorn," Alicia Yamato used her callsign to identify herself. "I have some intel."

"Source?" Gerald asked.

"Newtype skills, sir. Apparently we have a loose cannon on one of the enemy decks. Certain pilot, name of Shinn Asuka. Fancies himself ace material and he intends to prove it today before he captures the _Dominion_."

"That's a tall order in the face of seven Gundams, all rated Elite or better," Gerald quipped with a clear smile to voice. "I think this kid needs a lesson in the price of arrogance, and I believe since you already have Newtype eyes on the scenario, I think you should deliver the message. Can you handle?"

"Aff, sir," Alicia answered for her desire to do so.

"Attention Mobile Forces, this is Jamestown. You know what's at stake here. Let's go whoop some ass. Motivational speech over."

"Hell yes, just the way I like 'em, short and sweet," Shani said.

"Aye," Argus Deville nodded, as did his Gundam.

"I want Argus and Oruga out the doors first, then Alicia and Gerald, then Shani and Wendy, and Clotho to play catch-up. Twenty seconds between cat-shots, no less!" Commander Grey ordered.

"All right, who's on the radio today?" Gerald asked on the general channel.

"Oh, I've got this," 'Unicorn' said. "Dead or Alive by _JAM Project_."

"I think I like your attitude today," Gerald noted with an approving nod. It may not have been his classic Metal preference, but when beating ass at a fast pace, music to keep the beat to was a plus.

-x-

Flay pressed her headphones in tighter, focusing on the radar. The countdown was on, and as soon as the timer hit zero, the _Dominion_ would be sending out its first pair.

"Five seconds, three seconds, one second!" The radio Officer shouted.

"Launch!" Flay ordered. Both Catapults tripped nearly simultaneously, discharging the first two machines into space and into the blossoming battlefield. ZAFT was not far behind of their own volition, though each ship only had one catapult for their six machines.

"This is Argus, I'm putting down long-range suppressing fire." With both paired Gatlings, the veteran Gundam pilot began spraying down a swath of space encompassing two of the enemy warships on the left. Though not the most efficient use of ammunition, it was also devilishly effective against dispersed enemy Mobile Suits — they often would not see the electroluminescent paint rounds in flight, since Argus specifically did not load tracers into his magazines. The first indication they would get would be loss of systems, since bullets technically did not slow down in space.

Oruga was a little less subtle about it, dumping a pair of bazooka rounds on a collision course with the lead enemy warship. For his efforts, the rebuilt Duel intercepted the missiles with beam saber, ending the attempt at long-range suppression and harassment fire.

"Alicia Yamato, launching!" 'Unicorn' declared as her machine jetted clear of the Dominion and nearly face-first into Oruga's backside. "Low bridge!" she shouted as the Gundam Double-X ducked under the Calamity and continued forward.

"Gerald Lightbringer, launching!" Argus had made fair to move to the side, and thus prevent becoming a roadblock to the next set of cat-shots.

"So, the enemy commander shows himself!" Yzak broadcast on an open frequency. "Primary target identified! Get him, lads!" Yzak ordered to the available MS forces, some eighteen machines.

-x-

"Captain, the enemy is attempting a dispersed wall guard," the sensor operator onboard the _Nazca_-class warship _Fermi_ said in response to the _Dominion's _deployment of their fifth and sixth machines.

"Smart, and effective use of the MS. Blockers, to their quarterback," and Talia tapped on the sensor table where the _Dominion_ was. "Inform the _Socrates_ and _Juno_ to follow us in at full burn. If we hit them fast enough, we can blow through their limited guard and make a run on the ship itself."

"Aye aye, Capt — WHOA!" The Radio officer recoiled back from the windows as two tracer beams passed between the _Fermi_ and _Laurasia_-class _Juno_ — beams from the Gottfried cannons, no less, and not very far off considering the range bracket of the fire. The weapons power was toned down to the point of scorching paint and no more, but the lethality would be scored by the battle computer as crippling should they hit.

"Not good, if they can get that close this far away," Talia groused. "All the more reason to get a move on, now. Where are our Mobile Suits?"

"Four down already, Ma'am, but closing to close-quarters with the enemy machines."

"Inform the other _Nazcas_ to flank wide and come in at a steep angle, to prevent the _Dominion_ from putting all its firepower into action."

The radio orders went out clean this time, though the radio officer choked up slightly when a Linear Cannon simulate slug passed by the ship. Mendel had designed a very interesting simulate that would have the trajectory of the Valiant guns, but was hollow and mostly impact-deforming polymer with granulated iron oxide inside for magnetism. It would flatten when it struck anything, Mobile Suit or Warship, and ran only a slight risk of damaging Mobile Suit components. The other slug of the pair had struck a Mobile Suit in the side — Rey Za Burrell — and administratively sundered his machine down to scrap parts.

-x-

"Luna! Get in close on Wendy Barus and stay there! She can't bring firepower to bear if you're up in her face!" Shinn shouted. "I have a clear shot on Gerald, I'm going for that bastard!"

"Like hell you do, kid," a completely different voice noted on the GUARD frequency. Shinn was able to put the shield on his ZGMF-1001 in the way of the incoming beams, and only barely managed to avoid the beam saber bayonets on the dual beam rifles of this new enemy machine.

As she flew past him, Shinn turned and snapped off two shots from his beam rifle, followed by four missiles from the Blaze Wizard pack. The missiles were a forlorn hope, he knew, just a harassment measure against a Gundam pilot, but lucky breaks sometimes change the nature of a battle. The failure of the missiles were salved by a hit with the beam rifle, though it was peripheral damage to a shoulder and nothing more.

The return fire this time was more than he expected. As the pilot circled around (and sabered two other ZAKU Warriors as it passed), she turned in on him and lead off with four beam rifle shots of her own. Two missed completely, a third scraped armor, but a fourth clipped the binder that attached his left-shoulder shield to the machine and caused it to discharge. Stunned by this turn of fortune, Shinn only barely had time to react to her attempt to grapple, and instead suffered her beam saber as it chopped clear the left leg from his machine (In simulation, of course; the paint was scorched, and his damage indicators all went black to simulate a lost limb.).

On this pass, Shinn didn't have as far or as fast to shoot back in counter, though without his left leg he could not turn fast enough and five shots all missed wide, one even struck Luna in the back and rendered her machine inop. "Damnit, Shinn! You fragged me!" (7)

"Oh sh — " He never got a chance to complete the epithet, as the enemy Gundam turned in on him and this time succeeded in grappling with his Mobile Suit. A couple light punches to the head rendered his main camera inoperable, followed by first his left arm going black from something removing it, then the right shoulder and arm disappeared in the same fashion.

"I won't bother wasting more effort on you, boy," the same enemy pilot said over the GUARD frequency again. "_Dominion_, one tagged for a statement at my location. Frag 'em for effect." (8)

"_Dominion_ rogers request for fire," someone else said. Within moments, Shinn's radar sensors began lighting up with clear indication that he was locked up on multiple bands.

-x-

Talia watched as the four missiles were launched from the _Dominion_, and all four angled toward Shinn. There was not much she could do for the reckless pilot, since the _Fermi_ was already heavily engaged itself by the Raider and the _Dominion_. _Juno_ was downed by four beams of Gottfried to the midships; such a blow would assuredly have killed all hands. _Socrates_ was not doing any better, but at least would have been salvageable after taking six hits from the Valiants and an extra eight missiles.

The one thing outstanding was the outliers, the _Nazca_-class vessels _Nazca_ and _Oppenheimer_. _Nazca _had achieved a good firing position without harassment, though _Oppenheimer_ had ran afoul of Gerald Lightbringer and was administratively sunk. Nobody doubted that a pair of heavy ballistic cannons through the bridge windows would have ruined that ship's day in seconds.

Of the dedicated Gunner ZAKU team that had been launched last, only one of them fired on the Dominion. It was not a hard shot, since the _Archangel_-class ships were big frigging ships, but the only result gained was the port-side Gottfried cannons were out of business. The poor ZAKU had received some forty or fifty 75mm paintballs from the _Dominion_, a hellish mess that would take the pilot hours to clean even with a power washer.

Now, Yzak and Shiho were two of eight pilots still active, and Shinn had just become a loud statement courtesy of the _Dominion_'s missile launchers. Four anti-air missiles liberally coated his machine in hot pink electroluminescent paint, causing his machine to glow faintly neon pink in homage to its death.

"Weapons control, target the _Dominion_. If we can scratch it, we win," Talia ordered. "All primary guns fire at will!"

Six machines remained between her ship and five enemy Gundams.

-x-

"Wendy!"

"I've got her!" Wendy shouted in response to the implicit request for update from Gerald. "Oruga, flank Yzak to the right!"

"On it! Shani, cover me!" Oruga hammered his jets forward, firing in two directions: one to a remaining ZAKU Gunner and the other to Yzak. The veteran Gundam pilot was fast enough to block the beam shots, but the ZAKU was not fast enough to realize those bazooka rounds had her name on them. "This blue thing is toast!"

"I've mopped the right flank," Shani noted as his railguns downed the last ZAKU on that side. "New models my ass. Might be nice if they actually updated their training standards first." The Forbidden cruised past the hot-pink-glowing enemy machine. "Oh, yeah, and this kid could use an attitude adjustment to go with some more training."

"I heard that, asshole," the shamed enemy pilot said on the GUARD frequency.

"Boy, I would not rip your face off and wipe my arse with it, lest I dishonor my bum with such field-expedient toilet paper," Shani said in his creepy monotone voice.

"Shani, if you're done pissing on the deceased, the Duel just dropped Wendy Barus. Your services are needed front and center," Flay ordered.

"Aff, milady," Shani continued in his creepy monotone before he turned in and hammered his jets to close up. His thrust toward was in vain, however, given that Gerald had used the administrative demise of his ally to chop the Duel down to size from the right flank. Try as he might, the Duel was 105 tons with barely the maneuverability necessary to its task. It could not match the Magi-rebuild of the Physalis in a turn-and-burn engagement, and Gerald knew how to exploit such weaknesses.

"_Dominion_, reorient on the left flanker, the Gundams have the _Fermi _in hand."

-x-

To Talia, it was no surprise that once the guards were downed, the Calamity would be only one representative of the four to inform her that the _Fermi _was administratively downed.

Even in simulated battle, though, Captain Gladys had to admit the sight of looking down the Schlag beam cannons from a muzzle perspective as the pilot aimed them into the bridge windows, was enough to cause her to pee herself. She figured the looks of consternation on at least two other crewmembers was ample evidence that she was not alone in needing fresh underwear.

"I hope I don't have to tell you what this means, Captain," the pilot announced on the general control band for the Trial.

"Warship _Fermi_ acknowledges defeat and will surrender," Gladys said with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Lohengrin call! Two cannons on remaining Warship! Solid lock, solid solution!" Someone from the Dominion declared.

"Lohengrin call is acknowledged by Trial Command. Attention all forces, this is Star Admiral Centara, reporting Trial is concluded. Warship _Dominion_ and mobile forces, your Trial is well fought and well won. As is demonstrated against significant odds, and the survival of Warship and most of the Mobile Forces, you are hereby promoted to the rating of Veteran Assault Ship."

"Damn," Shinn muttered, though his curse went out on the general band.

"Yeah, how did that hero bullshit work out for you, Shinn?" Yzak asked in such a fashion that it was heard by all participants.

Star Admiral Centara drove onward: "Captain Gladys, your intent in this Trial is a failure. You may rechallenge and rebid your Trial at a later time, if your command section considers a rematch to be worth the resources. As it stands, the offered wager of the battle is accepted, two more production slots for warships and five for Mobile Suits. I shall have to discuss models to be produced with yourself and Chairman Durandal as soon as possible."

"Understood."

"And, one last thing, If I may address one your personnel directly, Captain Gladys?" Wayne asked.

"At your option, Star Admiral," Talia granted the field to him.

"Pilot Shinn Asuka, are you still on the net?" Wayne asked.

"Yeah," he responded in a tone just barely shy of belligerent.

"Keep in mind that a loose cannon on deck may look awesome when it goes off, but the blowback from such a shot usually sends the cannon over the edge and sinks it unto Davy Jones' Locker, never to be seen or fired again. Pull that stunt in a real battle, and such shall be your fate. One misguided blast and nothing forevermore."

Though Wayne would not immediately realize it, Alicia Yamato and Gerald Lightbringer could sense a certain thought. With one short lecture on loose cannons, the Star Admiral had made a venomous enemy out of an arrogant ZAFT pilot.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

So, a new day and a new chapter for Flay. Not too shabby, turning around two chaps in one month. Think I may have the hang of this.

So, the major fun here is the culmination of Flay's break-in period, the Trial of Position. With the victory here, Flay has advanced from Green Sensor Operator to Veteran Sensor Operator and Crewman rating. Granted, her training in some things is still ongoing (Mainly her skills with heavier weapons), but Gerald will be covering that in coming chapters just the same.

The Trial itself was part experiment, part usual ass-whomping fare. In all reality, it was not a fair fight, and though not directly engineered to be so, the devil is in the setup work here. To make the Trial of Possession attractive to Wayne Centara, Talia was forced to bid low, in fact lower than Wayne expected to challenge the _Dominion _with. Still and all, a challenge is a challenge, and in this case the quality of victory is what determined their promotion, not the tonnage. By beating ZAFT so hard, with less than 20 percent damage to the ship and half surviving mobile forces, that is considered a stellar victory against such odds.

The Experiment part of the Trail comes in two parts. First, since I have transitioned all my writing to Google Docs, I was able to write with real-time input from my beta, which helped a lot in the correction and narrative process. Second, and you can expect this to influence matters a lot more, **Takeshi Yamato** is now assisting with OpFor planning and procedures. It may not seem to be massive in effect so far, and in reality the options ZAFT had were limited here, but wait until things get real messy in the MMC and JW sets, and you will see some scorecards change. My problem with doing both sides of the battle is that I tend to play both sides by a heightened standard of conduct, which is mostly due to having a little better grasp of military tactics and procedures than the Gundam authors. Takeshi can bring the OpFor in closer to canon conduct and help backcheck on what I am writing, a win-win scenario as far as I am concerned.

Of course, a single Trial of Position / Possession is not the bulk of this chapter. The real meat is Flay's sign-up and initial forays into the probably most insane army in the Cosmic Era. Certainly doesn't hurt that Flay is used to doing insane things, so this is just another day on the job for her. As shown prior, most of her training in BC and prior experience on the Archangel is coming to use here, in that she is ahead of the curve and doesn't need to go back through basic. The refreshers shown were only the beginning; Flay will still be under training for some chapters to come, but most of that is training for something beyond what she is right now.

Not much relational action in this chapter, which is to be expected. Flay and Oruga work incongruent shifts, and Mayura is technically a civilian so she doesn't normally camp on the ship. That may change if she ends up in a family way — the Magi have traditionally allowed family on the ship, who will work as contractors for businesses (larger ships) or mess hall or janitorial (smaller ships). Educational concerns are also available for children if needed.

The Ghosts are an interesting take this time around. Benjamin Jones is a legend among Magi Ghosts, in that he has a service record a mile long and the skills to back up his wild claims about ass-whooping; Shown here is a classic Ghost operation: get inside, do recon, and sabotage the target on the way out. Nothing can beat the power of an invisible man to get inside the enemy's command or logistic loops and cause havoc. This is also a classic 'black' sabotage run, in that the Ghost deliberately took actions necessary to conceal his presence while causing maximum field-expedient havoc. While it may seem strange to not use a more reliable method of setting off the ordinance he destroyed in place, keep in mind that using explosives points to professional work. Using mineral spirits and a road flare make it look like an amateur job, which immediately shunts attention away from the possibility of a Ghost having done the dirty work.

Pay special attention to the idiocy of the Blue Cosmos rep today. It may not be endemic, but it is a known failing of BC to underestimate their foes. Their actions may have disastrous consequences, especially in coming chapters.

On the home front, spring is approaching and I am struck with a new vitality to write and plan nefarious story twists. This will come in handy, as I am going minimalist in terms of entertainment expenditures; no major video game or hardware purchases for some time. I may revamp my computer to a new box in coming months, but that is up for debate at this time. I may hold off to next year for that purpose, since this machine is getting along just fine right now.

As to the general story writing process, I find that enough effort can get me a chapter every other week or so. That being the case, two chapters a month inside my standard rotation (AAA — DFA — MMC — JW2) should be fairly quick. Ambitious, and likely to not go over as well as I expect, but worth a try. That said, next chapter will be in MMC, and things are starting to get interesting in there to a degree...

And, I think it bears mentioning. I would like to thank all my readers for staying with me even through this funk that crippled my writing over the past couple years. Now that I have no cause to angst over outside events (long, freaking long story), I am back to writing. I intend to stay there; hopefully, I can break out of the stories and get everything written out sometime shortly.

That's all for today. **NEXT UP**: Flay continues to grow into her new job, even as outside events begin the chain of nightmares that will lead to the inevitable second fracas...

* * *

**Review Replies**: Five reviews engender five replies. On an aside, I note that I've received more reviews for the first 3 chaps than I did for the entire first run of this story. Always fun to hear the thoughts of readers!

_Dark Phoenix Jake_: A party has definitely happened, but things are only going to get more interesting as time moves forward. Those anti-terr teams will get more workout in coming chapters.

_Takeshi Yamato_: I don't remember the Striker packs, so a refresher may be in order...

_One Village Idiot_: Kira's location isn't exactly classified or secured, but it is not broadcast. Needless to say, Mendel now knows.

Athrun was involved against the other two Gundams that didn't make it, as were the Astray machines. Orb badly misread Mendel's blitz technique on that run.

Well, beams really don't reflect like that, but the Forbidden's defense mechanism can be used. Mendel is somewhat playing nice with Orb, so...

_Deathzealot_: Well, the old saying goes: 'Friends come and go, enemies pile up'. Mendel has made some friends, but a few enemies as well.

On Gerald's phrase, feel free to use that at will.

_Flawless Cowboy 2552_: Easiest to just block quote what I sent you in PM on this critical detail.

_Thanks for the review, and a very good eye for that detail. However, Flay explained what happened to Kira in Chapter 4, though briefly. The long and short of it is this: after she was taken prisoner, rather than hold her on the Vesalius, Creuset decided to give her the necessary N-Jammer Canceller info in a clandestine storage unit and had her set out as part of a routine prisoner exchange. As you know, Azrael did not escape the battle of Mendel, nor did the Vesalius, but her info still made it to EA hands and resulted in a slightly modified initial Battle of Jachin Due, at least until the Mjolnr crashed the party._

I forgot about this issue, though next chapter sounds pretty good for expatriating this demon.

**THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS**! The more, the merrier, and the more fuel for this fire!

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

One gripe was pointed out, though it was a deliberate turn of phrase in chapter 1. Thanks to my beta readers _**Takeshi Yamato**_ and _**Necroblade**_ for keeping my prose straight!

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **Sea Daddy** is an old Navy expression, referring to a senior crewmember that takes in a younger crew member and trains them in all the aspects of their duty and shipboard life. In some law enforcement circles, the equivalent term is _Rabbi_. Among Magi Commandos, the preferred term is _Sensei_.

(2): **Touman** is a Clan term, referring specifically to the fighting arm of the Clan. It is often considered a respectful term, and is rarely used in a derisive fashion even when referring to enemies or rivals.

(3): **Commando Hatch** is a common term among the Magi to refer to a cargo space built into a machine to stow people, gear, or other odds-and-ends that might be put in there. So known because they were first made famous by the Commando Caste for the amount of arsenal and survival gear most Commandos have in these hatches.

(4): **O**ut **F**ucking **O**ff. I daresay this one doesn't require much explanation, ne?

(5): **I**nfantry **F**irst **A**id **K**it, a small kit with the essential to treat minor wounds on the fly and stabilize more serious combat injuries for proper medical treatment.

(6): **Batchall** is the ritual process of bidding a Trial to set the parameters and forces used for the combat. In this case, the Trial was begun by Talia forwarding a request for meet for a Trial Of Possession the day prior to the Batchall shown here. The bidding always ends when the two parties agree to the terms, the defender having the option to cancel the Trial with 'I refuse your bid', to modify it with 'I request rebid with modifications', or complete it with 'Well bargained and done'.

(7): **Fragged** and its variants are dual-use words. In common parlance, it means to kill something with a fragmentation weapon, though in a little more narrow circumstance (applies here) it means to kill an ally.

(8): This is a clear showing of the more common use of the word **Frag**, as in to kill with a fragmentation weapon.


	7. Keeping Up Relations

(Dilemma of Flay Allster, Chapter 07: Keeping Up Relations)

(17 November CE 72, 1030 Hours UTC)  
(In orbit over Terra)

"Helm, confirm descent course and slug to the sensors team for sweep of area to ensure clear skies. We don't want to plow through an airliner on the way down," Captain Jamestown ordered curtly.

"Aye sir, on the way," the Helmsman answered. "Wait — didn't the IATO issue a TFR for our flight corridor?"

"I don't care if they did," Soritz commented curtly. "I don't trust a civvie pilot any more than I trust the Earth Alliance in general. We verify clear skies before we dive in."

"Already checked, nothing within 100 flying minutes of our descent and approach corridors, sir," Nikko piped up to take some heat off the helmsman.

"Excellent. Helm, begin descent."

"Time to drop it down hot!" the Helmsman tripped the ablative gel dispensers to provide an extra layer of defense to the ship against atmospheric resistance. One of the nanomachine upgrades provided to the _Dominion_ was reentry-capable hull composites, but options (especially known working options) were always a good thing.

"Not my first time dropping into the atmosphere," Flay noted. "Did it a couple times in shuttles, did it once on the _Archangel_, now I do it on the _Dominion_. I might be getting used to this," Flay said with some semblance of calmness to Nikko.

"Glad you're at peace with your inner extreme spacefaring ship's crewman," Elizabeth, the Station 3 Sensors Operator, retorted sharply. "I'll just stay over here and shit bricks until we're safely down or something happens."

"If you feel like praying to anything, the Norse Gods are still taking requests on the sly," Gerald noted with complete gravity from one of the guest officer seats.

"Huh? Serious?" Nikko asked.

"Aye, quite serious," Gerald acknowledged. "The Old Emperor always had a good working relationship with the Norse, even when shit went sour with other divinities. It was always considered an under-the-table exemption to the Norse that the Executor Decree did not strictly apply to them, so long as they didn't do anything to piss on the deal."

"Okay, now that's genuinely shocking," Elizabeth said. "All I have heard, that the will of an Executor is absolute, and there are caveats even in that rock?"

Gerald specifically did not draw attention to the fact that atmospheric reentry had begun, especially since his distraction was working extremely well. Force them into a debate that questions their preconceptions, and they do not have the mental time to spare on worry.

"You will find that even among the greatest beings throughout Existence, the Gods, The Star League governing council itself, the Executors, the Lords of the Star League, not all absolutes are truly as absolute as they first appear. Ah, here is one that will really rock your world. You are aware that the Magi and specifically Mendel are very thick on personal armaments throughout the civilian population?"

"Well, yeah," Elizabeth answered. "Before I joined up I carried a pair of old .38 revolvers, and I still have 'em with me as part of my street clothes. I was studying under the Virginia School of dual arms use and still practice it."

"Ahh, the same technique Division Commander Hess — later Master Executor Hess — uses for his paired Redhawk Revolvers. Frightening shit, I watched him drill paired headshots on moving tangos using that technique, back in my black-and-spooky days. Anyway, that is creepy spectacular but off-topic; look it up when you're off duty, we have some footage in the databank. So, back on issue, you are aware that it is illegal for non-military personnel to be armed?"

"Wait, what?" Flay asked.

"Star League General Council Decree number 60597: No civilian may possess arms of sufficient purpose to combat military personnel."

"No way," Elizabeth said, shocked. "If that is true, then Star League law overrides Magi law, so — "

"Yes and no," Gerald cut her off. "Technically that law is writ and enforceable, but this is where the power structure determines the true character of the law. First off, Empress Rini told the Star League Grand Council to get bent and lick her ass, because she was not going to disarm her people since she believed in the civvies being armed. No way the Magi were going to make noise about that, and everyone expected it."

"Okay, that sounds like something the Empress would say," Captain Jamestown said with a chuckle.

Gerald chuckled just the same, but continued. "Lord Sephiroth, the number 3 Executor in the command structure, passed out an RFOC (1) declaring that any Executor that enforced civilian disarmament would be drummed out of the service for insubordination, and an Executor that did not stop a known ongoing disarmament operation by SL personnel would be brought up for Dereliction of Duty in defending the Citizens of the Star League. So, without the Executors as an enforcement mechanism, the only place it applies is on Star League-controlled worlds, and that only when an Executor is not looking."

Gerald smiled, unseen by the Sensor Operators, for his ruse was working very well even without using Newtype skills to calm them. "Wait, are not the Executors part of the Star League? How can they get away with not enforcing the political decisions?" Elizabeth asked.

"Okay, think about it at absolute terms," Captain Jamestown picked this segment up. "Imagine yourself as a faceless bureaucrat. You walk up to one of a small fraternity of beings in Existence, whose job description reads, 'destroys planets and planetoids as necessary to protect inhabited worlds.' Now you, being an average Joe Blow government functionary, are you going to tell this living being of mass destruction to do something that his or her superiors have already told him not to do?"

Put that way, the answer was painfully obvious. "Hell no, sir!" Elizabeth responded.

"And that is the crux of the argument in one scenario," Gerald resumed the distraction. "In polite circles, it is called 'Judgment of the Executors'. In common terms, it is called realpolitik, or 'fuck your government functionary policies' conduct. If an Executor challenges the General Council, 999 times out of 1000 that is endgame for that policy. In a very few cases one of the Lords has overridden the judgment of a lower Executor, though those cases can be counted on one hand. Never once has the Royal Family overridden the judgment of one of the lower Lords, so when Sephiroth said don't enforce it, that policy effectively died right then and there."

"And a damn good thing, too," Nikko said. "I rather like having a friend along for those cases when the shit well and truly hits the fan."

"And for that you can thank the Old Emperor who set up the original armed citizen policy and protected it ruthlessly, his granddaughter who constantly refuses to give into lefty pressure to disarm, and that semi-psycho Lord Sephiroth for undercutting the SL General Council," Gerald concluded. The major vibration from the reentry was beginning to come down a bit, which meant they were passing down into the lower reaches of the atmosphere.

"So, how much can we reasonably get away with in that regard?" Elizabeth asked.

"Us? Well, since we are so far off the beaten path nobody knows where we are, we can play by straight Magi law until further notice," Captain Jamestown noted. "And that is what the Star Admiral is playing; he does not like the SL GC, so he's not worried about enforcing their bullshit on us especially when we don't have time for their personal whims."

"Nice," Elizabeth noted. "Okay, where are we?"

"Took you long enough to notice," Flay said with a hint of sarcasm.

"We're descending to FL 230 right now, we are technically through with the reentry phase and cooling the armor out over the ocean before we land at Sao Paulo Spaceport."

"Oh, wow," Elizabeth gaped.

"Let there be a lesson here, Elizabeth," Gerald said in a pensive tone. "A fear is something you dwell on, but if you do not fear it, do not dwell on it, you will find there is no threat. It is how I overcame my fears in battle, by focusing and not dwelling."

-x-x-x-

(17 November CE 72, 1030 Hours UTC)  
(Oceans west of South America)

"A fortunate accident," Admiral Todaka considered wryly. "_Dominion_ coming down, gives us a very good opportunity to test the new systems."

"Shall I initiate an intercept drill?" The XO asked as he watched the _Dominion_ move across the radar screen at a brisk clip.

"Make it a ship-wide drill, we need the practice time."

"Chief of the watch, sound general quarters," the XO ordered. "Sensors, track steady on the _Dominion_, fire control parties to prepare full combat actions."

"General Quarters, general quarters, all hands to your battlestations!" The Chief Of the Watch ordered over the ship loudspeaker system.

"Conn, sensors, reporting good track one warship, classification _Archangel_, hull designation _Dominion_. Target is course 0-8-4 at 650 kilometers, range bracket opening at 50 kilometers a minute at present," the Lieutenant in charge of the sensors operators declared.

"Sensors, Conn, aye," Admiral Todaka answered. "Helm, bring the ship around to 0-8-5 and put on full steam. Radio, signal to escorts to follow suit."

"Aye, sir!" the Helmsman immediately turned over the wheel sharp to starboard to begin the turn. Behind him, the radio officers began passing out movement revisions to the escort ships, who were also going onto General Quarters for training purposes.

"Conn, Flight Control, I show four catapults ready to launch at this time with Murasame," the Flight Boss declared after a few seconds of general hubbub around the bridge.

"Flight Control, aye," Todaka said, checking a stopwatch and noting the time on a clipboard. In reality, he was not displeased with the result, but the lack of an active intercept (units flying patrol around the ship) would eventually bite him in the ass. Of course, in practical terms, he could not justify the expenditure of fuel to do so without the nation being at war, but such were the breaks.

The bridge buzzed and beeped without crew directing any notifications to him for roughly a minute. The next advisement was the big one he wanted to hear: "Conn, Weapons, we have valid firing solution on Apollo Missile System. All other armaments are out of range."

"Weapons, Conn, Aye," and once again Todaka consulted his stopwatch. "Damn, we still need to work faster. Mendel could have crammed a half-dozen missiles down our throat in the time it takes us to get a firing solution."

"Sir, I think we have hit top-end for what our systems are capable of," the XO said quietly, so as to not be overheard in the din of the Control Room.

"I think you are right," Todaka noted grimly. "When we get back to port, I will submit a request to Morgenroete for an upgrade to a BQC for this ship. We're losing capabilities by using standard-architecture systems, and for damn sure the _Dominion_ has a big honking quantum mainframe tied to its guns, so I don't see why we can't have the same advantage. We manufacture the damn things, after all, might as well put them to use."

"Aye, sir!" the Weapons officer cheered.

"Arr! Arr!" one of the more unusual Sensors Operators shouted. Several of the other bridge staff followed suit.

"Since when did we have pirates on board?" the XO asked crassly.

"Speaking of pirates," Todaka said, looking out the window and toward the northwest. "XO, you have a new practice target. That _Spengler_-class carrier with the black flag."

"Sensors, get on it. Weps, retask the FCS and rebuild solutions for our other systems."

"On it, sir!" The Weps officer responded immediately.

"What the — Admiral, you may be right! I show _Spengler_ and _Arkansas_ turning toward, _Spengler_ appears to be deploying Mobile Suits," the bridge lookout said excitedly.

"XO, get out on the signal light and Morse-code them we are running a drill, not — "

"SHIT!" The Lookout screeched and dove to the deck, covering her head with both hands. As she was diving for the ground, a pair of naval beam cannon beams passed over the foredeck of the ship. Given the firepower that had come that close to the ship, Todaka could not begrudge her the otherwise unprofessional reaction.

"Enemy launch mobile suits! Four Strike Daggers, 1 Deep Forbidden!" The other lookout shouted.

"Flight, launch our Murasame! Weps, where is the firing solution?"

"Calculating final attack pattern now! Five seconds!"

"Missiles incoming!" the lady lookout said as she clamored to standing.

"CIWS and RBM Systems to special auto!" The XO ordered over the sound of the first four Murasame catapulting off the deck and into the sky. "Weps!"

"Solid lock, all weapons!" the Weapons Commander shouted.

"Use them!" the XO ordered.

"Launching torpedoes, ASCM (2), and Apollo Interceptors!" the CIWS guns and Rolling Block Missiles that provided the _Takemikazuchi_ with its weighted defense systems reacted to the incoming missiles from the _Spengler_ and _Arkansas_ with a vengeance. Once the missiles began turning in on terminal guidance, they list their cross-range maneuver options and presented an easy target for the defenses. Once the countermeasure launches began, it was effectively over for the incoming missiles.

Admiral Todaka was relieved that the enhanced defensive schema applied to the ship was working as advertised; defending against the ministrations of smaller and less effective ships en masse was the name of the game for Orb, and this battle just proved the concept was valid.

"Now for the counterattack," Todaka said with no heat to voice as the 6-block of anti-shipping cruise missiles on the port side oriented on the target and loosed two missiles. The range was grossly short for the ASCM weapons, . The port-side torpedoes snapped outward a second later and disgorged all three shots, undoubtedly searching for the Deep Forbidden that had gone under the waves.

The last thing to launch was the new air-defense weapon of Orb's defensive forces. Apollo had come of age when Orb began dissecting what the Magi had done right at the Second Battle of Jachin Due. The most lethal weapon on their units, going by flexibility and number of kills, had been the missile systems. After reviewing the hard numbers, the reports had been swept under the rug by the analysts, since the missiles were nowhere near as 'sexy' as the beam weapons that were used in that battle. Admiral Todaka had been privy to the raw analysis, not the doctored 'sexy' version that the press had received. Lady Cagalli had even confirmed the validity of the reports, having seen firsthand how crushing those missiles were in professional hands.

Once the furor over the doctored reports died down, Todaka had been ordered to come up with a 'wet dream' missile system that mimicked Mendel's capabilities. No simple task, that, given the very wide array of missile systems in use by the Magi. After a week of angsting over the direction to take, he had three shots of vodka and slept on it. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was an old model of an American F-14 Tomcat interceptor and specifically its rather unique AIM-54C Phoenix AAM. He used it as the basis platform, built a special guidance package based on Mendel's multipurpose Common Targeting Systems, and married the package to the best possible engine and booster he could fit into it. What was born was a 680-kilometer (air launch) or 1350-kilometer (boosted-launch) multipurpose interceptor missile with a 100-kilogram warhead, a top speed of Mach 4 and a really foul attitude.

Two of the Apollo missiles launched from VLS silos forward of the bridge, two launched from silos to the starboard side, all four aimed at the Strike Daggers. As soon as the booster kicked them out of the cells, they turned 90 degrees to port and began riding an x-band tracking radar beam from the _Takemikazuchi_, 25 megawatts of radar power that literally burned through the N-jammer interference from the _Arkansas_-class ship, much the same way the Magi had done in their battles against enemy ships. Herein the multipurpose targeting system came into action, as the missiles had been launched with the expectation of seeing targeting beams from the ship. Four interceptors immediately saw their launch-coded beams and zeroed in. The first missile found its target and slammed into the chest of the machine; on impact alone, the 1500-kilogram missile tore the Mobile Suit in half, with the 100-kilogram warhead practically as an afterthought. The second missile did not detonate at all, it simply splattered the Strike Dagger at Mach 2.5 with pure kinetic trauma. Missile 3 failed to guide properly (mechanical fail in its fins), and zoomed past the formation where it detonated 500 meters behind the target as a safety measure. The number four missile blew in front of the enemy machine, severely damaging it and blowing it down into the ocean.

A muted rumble through the hull made note that one of the torpedoes had found its mark, at the same time the ASCM weapons reached the Arkansas-class ship. One missile was shredded apart by CIWS guns on the ship, but the second did not stop; it slammed into the superstructure of the ship and blew some meters into the hull; the blast literally tore a good portion of the ship's conning tower off and sent it spiraling into the waves on the far side of the enemy carrier. The enemy escort was certainly out of the fight after that kind of punishment.

"YES! Direct hit on the _Arkansas_!" The lady lookout shouted. Her shout was accented by the destruction of the remaining Strike Dagger over the waves, before it could make a landing on the Orb carrier.

"This battle is not over! Weps, hit the carrier," Todaka half-shouted at his men. Another muted rumble told that the second torpedo had struck the Forbidden Blue, and Todaka figured the pilot was having a bad day. Each torpedo carried 350 kilograms of Torp-Ex, designed to core out the hull of a ship from under the waves. A Mobile Suit, massing a mere fraction of even a small submarine, would not be able to take that kind of punishment for long.

"Wait, sir, the escorts are moving on it," the XO said, pointing to the nearby _Aegis_-class ship. The naval 127mm cannon traversed and elevated, then settled into firing mode with a surprisingly audible click. What followed was a shell every two seconds for half a minute, accompanied by four missiles from each of the _Takemikazuchi_'s four escorts. Given the third shell had struck the enemy port CIWS array and destroyed it, none of the missiles were intercepted before they struck the ship. A second _Aegis_ opened up with its 127mm at a range of 12 kilometers, effectively spitting range for the ship and the gun, and the combined weight of shells began blowing chunks out of the hull, superstructure, and launch decks.

The third torpedo blew close to the surface, an event that caused a temporary water geyser. "Sir, the Forbidden Blue has surfaced, but it's not doing anything except slowly cruise toward us," the central lookout noted.

"That's weird, it should have attacked or done something by now," the XO commented dryly.

"Unconscious pilot," Todaka gauged. True to his estimate, the MS continued cruising toward the ship, until it ran head-first into the side of the hull with a resounding clang of metal against metal, and still did nothing. "Flight, have two of our Murasame rappel down the side of the ship on hawser lines and tie up that machine for recovery. If the pilot is dead or KO, we can capture and interrogate."

"More missiles from the enemy — whoa shit!" the lady lookout said as something in the enemy Spengler cooked off, rendering something akin to a mushroom cloud of an explosion to its death. Immediately eyes went to the pair of radiation detectors built into the ship's consoles, though they did not even flicker, meaning the blast, though large, was entirely conventional.

"Have the escorts move to the downed ships to recover personnel," Todaka ordered. Even if they were detested enemies, probably pirates in the classic sense, they were still sailors and every sailor had a duty to each other in this regard.

The XO cleared his throat hesitantly. "Well, Morgenroete wanted some live-fire testing of these new weapons systems and the Murasame, they'll get a glowing report when we get back to port."

"Sad to say, it was indeed live-fire for this report," Todaka acknowledged.

-x-x-x-

(19 November CE 72, 0600 Lima (UTC-5))  
(USSA Main Garrison, Manaus, Brazil)

Alicia Yamato didn't consider herself anything spectacular in terms of looks. Certainly not when considered against the "model" bloodheritages and genetic modifications available in the Commercial Eugenics Systems of the Magi Empire, whereby award-winning looks and 'assets' were commonplace. She was part of the Yamato Bloodheritage, hardass mobile weapon pilots and not clotheshorses. Even in her own bloodlines, Alicia didn't consider herself much to look at.

That said, the amount of attention she was getting from the USSA personnel in Manaus was well beyond what she expected. "Erm, sir, am I imagining this?" Alicia asked after a moment.

"Imagining what?" Lieutenant Captain Rico asked.

"Am I really drawing a huge amount of attention, or..."

"Oh, that," Rico said. "Yeah, you're generating a few looks," the USSA pilot hedged. "Mind you, it is understandable. There aren't that many ladies in the Manaus command, and you do fall in the 'prettier than average' category."

"Thanks, I needed that," Alicia replied semi-sarcastically.

"Don't worry about them," Rico chuckled. "They'll grow up...eventually. So, one thing nobody has asked, what exactly were you requested to do while here?"

"Colonel Harrelson requested that I review the Armor units here at Manaus, see if a Magi armor pilot could determine avenues of improvement."

"Interesting request," Rico answered dryly.

It was Alicia's turn to chuckle at the instant acidity of the USSA pilot. "Don't feel too bad, Captain. We routinely used Negaverse Bondsmen for the same purpose, back in the bad old days. Sometimes, it takes an outside eye to figure out what is wrong."

"And you trusted them?" Rico was surprised at their baroque choice of personnel to do such a task.

"Most, yes," Alicia admitted. "There will always be a saboteur or two."

"And how do I know you're not in that category?" Rico asked with enough innocence to voice that it was clearly in jest.

"Oh, well, you know," Alicia hedged with a slight hint of sarcasm of her own. "Being perfectly serious, though, we have a good grasp what Harrelson is planning. When the inevitable scrap starts up, the top-level of the USSA wants all its Caribbean possessions back, and everything south of the Rio Grande as compensation for the Atlantic Federation abuses. You can pass on to your bosses that we say to have at it, take it if you can hold it. We'll worry about particulars at a later time, but once the balloon goes up the number one priority is going to be turning Earth Alliance forces into Earth Alliance Hamburger. How that happens, or who does it, is merely detail work as far as we are concerned."

"That is...wow. I definitely didn't expect that from the Mages," Rico said.

Alicia opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a shout from someone nearby. She immediately whipped around to see what was going on, and saw a guy in fatigues hanging out of the top window of a two-story barracks building. It was the work of several seconds and two burly infantryman to haul the poor sod back into the window, which both Gundam Pilot and Captain watched with detached amusement. "The closer they get, the harder the crash to reality."

"I take it you are already taken?" Rico noted.

"Oh yes, my heart lies elsewhere," Alicia admitted. "Back on topic. We Magi are not tyros, and we're not arrogant enough to believe we can whoop their asses on our own, at least not without another ship or two full of reinforcements. Any help we get, the better. That's point one. Point two is a little more obvious. These assholes savaged your country just because you were supplying food and medical supplies to the starved colonists. The Magi have traditionally taken a dim view of anyone who uses starvation as a weapon for political gain; goes in counter to our philosophy of life and honor. On that alone, if you want a piece of the action, by all means have at it."

"That's refreshing," Rico said wholeheartedly. "And the bosses decided we could use an extra set of eyes for a day. So, milady Gundam Pilot, what comes to mind?"

"First off, what is the gunnery average of the individual subunits here?" Alicia figured cutting to the chase would be the best starting point.

"The Southern Cross teams are very well trained. We have them on the sim boxes every other week for full-up training, and individual platoons will drop in weekly for their own training. They actually can hit the broadside of a barn."

"Okay, that is good for your heavy armor," Yamato judged. "What about your mobile forces?"

"Slightly behind, but we can use the actual Mobile Suits as training aids without the fuel expenditures of the Southern Cross units."

"Mobility will be key when you strike north," Alicia said pensively. "And your mobility will need to take care of themselves. Defensive considerations?"

"We work closely with the infantry, and my boys know how to use terrain to funnel and disrupt enemy formations. We're definitely ready to take a hit, unless it is coming from the Magi."

"Oh? What makes you think against?" Alicia reacted to Rico's offhand declaration.

"I've read the doctrine. Naval fire support. Any force on planet that thinks they can survive a suborbital beating from the _Mjolnr_ is deluding themselves. Even a 3-minute fire pass from the Magi can rewrite the ground rulebook for good, and that's not counting air power or artillery."

"Good answer," Alicia admitted as she returned the gazes of the men still ogling her, though hers was a less-than-appealing expression. "Your artillery doctrine?"

"Likely not enough," Rico admitted. "We're still rebuilding capability. The Earth Alliance robbed us of most of our best artillery operators, and got them killed in Alaska."

"Okay, I expect that," Alicia nodded sympathetically. If there was one thing the Earth Alliance was known effective at, screwing the pooch was on that short list. "Can you cover with air assets?"

"Only for a limited time," Rico admitted. "Once they run out of ammo or bombs, we're back to operating without artillery support, not a good idea."

"Agreed, but some manner of support will take a load off your front-line boys, and anything is better than nothing in this case, even if it is cruise missiles from ships."

The two officers had approached the parking lot for the Southern Cross MBT units, which to Alicia's way of thinking looked like real hard tanks. She had little doubt that she could tangle with one successfully, maybe even two, but more than that would not have been an easy venture — and more than five would not have been doable at all. A pair of Gauss Rifle slugs would have been enough to knock her down, and missiles were always a hazard to a Gundam.

Alicia was silent for over a minute, simply staring at the armor. "You are thinking something," Rico said after a minute.

"I am," the Mendel pilot answered quietly. "As we are right now, we can't win a conventional campaign against the Earth Alliance. That is painfully obvious to anyone with military understanding. 2 million hardasses are not going to be able to stand against 3 billion, even if they have mass internal unrest. It's absurd to even assume it possible. Just the same as Orb trying to stand against the Earth Alliance for any major length of time."

"No major argument from me on that, we all thought the same thing. So, what is Mendel's gameplan? Pin them on the ground and hammer them flat?"

"I dunno," Alicia admitted. "Given enough time, the Earth Alliance would be able to counter even that, but not after bleeding them hard. Question becomes, do you think it is doable?"

"Bleed them until they collapse? Possible, actually likely. The civilians do not like the present government. The right set of preconditions could crush their administration." Rico scratched his head.

"If it happens, how fast can you move?" Yamato asked.

Rico considered his answer carefully, since he was being asked for under-the-table assistance in unspecified shenanigans to come. After ten seconds, he considered that screwing the Earth Alliance was the better form of discretion for the incidents to come. "Fast enough."

-x-x-x-

(20 November CE 72, 1300 Lima (UTC-4))  
(Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, USSA Territory)

Flay considered that her fate could be far worse.

She had been unofficially married to Blue Cosmos, trying desperately to kill Coordinators and Eugenics in the past. She had been told that there was no out for that job; she did the job or died trying, and fleeing would not save them from the execution squad. Blue Cosmos' hitmen could not reach into Mendel, so she was safe from that angle.

In years past, she had been something of a manipulator grand mal, trying to get Kira to burn himself out in her quest to kill all Coordinators. She had even used her body as a motivator to further her twisted goal. Flay had walked away from that nightmare, and even promised Kira that she would give him a future without Blue Cosmos. (Strictly speaking, however, she did not know how that would be done, but she was willing to try.)

Most recently, she had no aim on how she wanted to go forward. Once she walked away from the hatred, once she broke with Blue Cosmos (and indirectly killed over a dozen BC Operators), she really had no options. The only things that meant anything to her were her boyfriend and her promise to correct the problems she had participated in. After a month in the Mendel military, she had a clear view that enemies come in many flavors, and not all are officially recognized as foe. Flay snap-decided that she would face down an opposition and fight it to the best of her effort.

Now, after a bare four months in service to Mendel, all that remained was her duties...and her boyfriend. She figured the latter would be the critical one to keep her from going berserk on her vengeance trip; something of an anchor for her soul and sanity in what threatened to be a hurricane of rage. Flay had come to the quick conclusion that Blue Cosmos was using people for their purpose of ethnic cleansing, and Flay did not subscribe to the thought of using people (any more). Lastly, she swore all her resources to neutralizing Blue Cosmos, not a simple task, but a lofty one.

Of course, even the most righteous crusade could begin the a rather unusual fashion...

-x-

"To begin, what may I bring you to drink?" the waiter asked calmly.

"Water, no ice," Oruga said.

"The same," Flay noted after a few.

"I will return shortly," he said gracefully.

"We don't get out enough," Oruga said. "Kinda miss the days when we were going out on two-day dates every other week or so."

Flay partially suppressed a giggle. "You sound like that was years ago," she admitted with a coy sense of humor to voice.

"Feels like it," Oruga grumped. "Man, when that one old Roman dude was talking about 'their drills were bloodless battles, until their battles became bloody drills,' I never considered that he was writing about CC Lightbringer until I saw it firsthand."

"He really is a hardass among a society of 'em," Flay admitted. "Which is good. I needed to be whipped into shape, and I still have a long way to go."

Oruga nodded, even though he was leaning back against his seat-back with one arm thrown over it and looking in the general direction of the bar. He certainly wouldn't say it in such direct terms, but the physical, mental, and weapons regime the Century Commander had put her under was changing the scion of the Allster Family into a helluva lady in his estimate. She was tougher mentally, tougher physically, even hotter than before (Oruga did not imagine her ever as being fair-looking, but the workout routine had burned off a good layer of fat from her and made her even more shapely), and yet more dangerous with armaments than even the Extended thought possible. Oruga had a feeling that Flay might be unrecognizable today to those she used to call friends, and even that one pilot Kira that she was really reticent to discuss.

"Don't burn yourself out, girl," Oruga said. When she perked up (her silent way of requesting explanation), Oruga himself sat up properly. "This isn't going to end in one massive orgy of destruction. We'll be at it for a decade or more, and we're in it for the duration." Both held silent as the waiter brought their beverages out. "Go into it full-bore, you burn out before you run out of targets to service."

Flay nodded curtly. "A decade? Don't think I'll wait that long," she thought aloud.

"Huh?" Oruga asked.

"Oh, nothing, just planning for our future — but nothing of quitting," she hastily amended her nebulous phrasing.

"You say so," Oruga said warily. He wasn't 100 percent sure what she meant by 'our future', but he wasn't about to inquire, either, lest things get difficult...or strange. He also deliberately wasn't framing this in the context of the romance mangas he occasionally read just to mix up his library; the tales in those books, though cute and heartwarming to a Gundam Pilot, were about as fake as Murutha Azraiel posing naked on a 3 C-bill note (3).

(Incidentally, Oruga had received hours of amusement as Clotho shouted 'brain bleach! brain bleach!' and ran in circles screaming after seeing a naked Azrael on one of those 3-dollar bills, even in complete parody. It had taken Alicia Yamato slapping Clotho hard enough to leave a hand imprint to end the wailing of said Gundam pilot. Shani, as always, simply shrugged the incident off and continued headbanging to his music. To everyone's knowledge, the only other pilot in the room (Argus Deville) had not been awoken by the incident, and had no knowledge of it.)

"Well, seriously, what do you think?" Flay asked him directly.

"Think about what? Our future?" Flay nodded affirm. "Well, the Magi do have accommodations for families, so it's not out of the question if you want to go that far," Oruga said offhand.

"No, I know that," Flay groused. "I mean, what do you want for a relationship, in the end?"

That question brought Oruga up short. "I, err, really haven't thought that far ahead."

"You haven't, or you're not admitting?" Flay asked on the sly. She had seen that manner of conduct in guys before her dating disaster with Kira. They pretended innocence, but had their own plans and most of that involved domination or arrogance or envy. She had learned real quick how to tell the difference between the innocent and the lecherous, even despite being less-than-innocent herself.

Oruga regarded her hard for a few moments, but decided it was a legit question and not trying to force his hand. "I'll be the first to admit I like reading the occasional mushy manga in between shonen stories and such, but I'm definitely not naive enough to know what I want in those terms. I know for damn sure that I don't want to rush head-first into something, that usually doesn't end well."

Flay mentally choked, realizing that her questions could very easily lead her down the path that she had led Kira — and that was something she damn sure did not want to repeat. "Sorry, should not have asked," she mumbled after a minute of silence.

"Nah, legit question," Oruga replied, not knowing what landmine he had just stepped on (or, more likely, what claymore he had just tripped). "I'll readily admit that I'm not like Clotho, I don't rush into anything. I think he chose right, though, all things considered. Mayura is a firebrand like no other, perfect for the hothead gamer. I'm just not looking forward to being called 'uncle Oruga' and I know damn well I'll have to babysit sooner rather than later."

"Oh, that's not too hard," Flay said, having done so more than once before her fateful cruise on the _Archangel_. "You just make sure the kids stay out of trouble, and try to avoid going insane until after the parents are home. Problem solved."

"Sounds easy. Too easy."

Before they could continue, one of their Sao Paulo Spaceport IDs landed on the table, dropped there by a lady neither had seen before. "This belong to you?"

Flay picked it up and examined it. "Yours, Oruga," Flay said as she passed it to him. "Thank you for tracking us down to return it — "

"You don't thank us. You go to hell for our blue and pure world," the second lady of the pair reached into her handbag and came out with a Taser C2 gun — designed to incapacitate rather than kill. With one swift motion, she aimed to Oruga and fired, the prongs barely having enough time to clear the weapon before they punched through his street clothes and into him.

"What?" Flay half-screeched as Oruga slid out of his chair, twitching the whole time from the 85,000 volts coursing through him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could also see the first lady reaching for her handbag, and whatever weapon was in that.

Flay had started to panic, still jittery from her otherwise peaceful upbringing, but the months of training in Blue Cosmos and more recently in Gerald's hard instruction had changed that panic into motivation. Without her weapons, she had no real offensive option except her hands and feet, which after a split-second judgment appeared to be ample. Her environment, her conditioning, and her will would be her weapons, and be more than ample for it.

Allster immediately reached for the table nick-nacks, with her left hand finding the napkin dispenser and her right hand finding Oruga's water glass. As she bolted to standing, the water glass went for the second lady's face, a quick splash to disorient her, while her left hand came around in a wild roundhouse swing. The redhead's swing contacted her square in the right cheek at high velocity, a blow that knocked her off her feet and dropped her to the floor. On the way down, the BC operator's head struck the corner of a nearby table, which would later be determined as the cause of death (depressed skull fracture with hematoma).

The first lady shrieked after seeing her comrade go down, though the offense came even as she wailed and flailed viciously at Flay. A contact-only stun-gun was the blonde's weapon of choice, though being physically smaller than Flay did not give her an advantage in using it. Flay blocked the first stab with the paper napkins in the napkin holder, blocked a second stab in the same way, and managed to entrap the defensive weapon on a third attack. While holding the weapon to show the enemy she was disarmed, Flay noticed it had a latch battery cover; she scraped the latch against a nearby table corner, which threw open the battery compartment, and the weapon was thrown across the room separate of the batteries.

"You red-headed bitch!" the BC operative shouted at Flay. She stepped back as Flay advanced, and took a page out of the Mendel crew-woman's book with a cup of hot soup, except that her throw was off and the whole cup flew well wide of Flay. The next weapon in play was a steak knife, dangerous but admittedly poor for combat purposes.

Flay brandished the napkin dispenser as an infantryman would brandish a shield and set it for imminent guard. "Bring it, blondie," she ordered.

Allster smiled when the BC Operator made the mistake of not retreating. The knife came up and around from the left, where the napkin dispenser was, and right into the napkins as Flay intended. A single step forward added inertia as Flay brought her right fist up and into the lady's gut in a near-perfect uppercut that doubled her over. Flay was not done, though, and even before she drew her hand back her left leg came out to kick the legs out from under her foe. As the BC operator spun around her hand and went toward the floor, Flay's fist caught on some decorative rope loops attached to her blouse, though the lady kept moving toward the floor.

"Erm, wait, what?" Flay asked her hand, or more appropriately the cheap blouse that was now tangled around her hand, bereft of an owner.

"YES!" A couple college frat-boys shouted from three tables down. "MENDEL WINS AT UNCONVENTIONAL WARFARE FOR LIFE!"

"Oh my God!" an older lady shouts, seeing the state of affairs the aggressor was now left in.

"You — YOU BITCH!" The BC Operator shouted, her arms crossed over her bra in a failed attempt at hiding herself. "I'll get you for this!"

"You're gonna need bigger assets to beat me, dumbass," Flay said, initially referring to people, but after the fact realizing how her comment could be grossly (and easily) misconstrued.

"Oh, you — " She never completed the sentence, as Flay brought the napkin dispenser around into the side of her head as well, once again easily hard enough to knock her out. This time, the shirtless lady ended up sprawled face down and half-on a long table, completely unconscious and bleeding from a gash on the side of her face. As a final insult, Flay dropped the shirt on her lower back as a symbolic end to the fight.

"Oruga!" Flay turned back to where her date was trying to lever himself to standing, still with the barbs in his arm from the taser gun. She gingerly set the dented and bloodied napkin holder down on the table, then moved to him just as another man and a lady were upon him as well. "I have to —" She reached for the wires to the taser gun, but a hand swatted hers away.

"No, don't," a lady said. "If you pull them wrong, you'll tear a chunk out of his arm. I'm a paramedic, let me handle this."

"Hold," Oruga raised his hand to stop them from pulling the barbs. "I know this is gonna hurt, I've been tazed before. Get me two shots of tequila, please," he said to Flay.

Flay looked up to the cantina bartender. "Sir, where's your tequila?" she asked.

The bartender looked to the assistant. "Joey! Get me a bottle of the silver label tequila!"

"Sir!" Within seconds, the waiter had returned with the bottle and shot glasses — far more than just two.

"Here, _amigo_, drink up," the bartender said after pouring the shots.

"You know that's not going to help you," the EMT lady said.

"No, not right now, but later it will," Oruga admitted before the first shot. "Damn, that is too smooth. Anyway, someone got video? The Police will want it," the pilot said before the second shot.

"Yeah, man, we got the whole thing on video, and it kicked ass!" the frat boy said.

"Man, your girlfriend is one nasty customer in a flight!" another of his fraternity shouted.

"Well, this I'll have to see," Oruga said with a grim chuckle. "All right, just — just do it and get it over with. Just do it," he said to the EMT as the male EMT of the pair returned with a medical kit from their ambulance parked outside.

"Brace for it, soldier," the lady EMT said before she squeezed the entry wound and pulled it quickly. Oruga inhaled sharply against the minor tearing of his arm skin and muscle, but said nothing. "Round two," she said before she pulled the second.

-x-

(2 hours later)

Flay was sitting with Oruga at the same table they had started the date at, effectively unharassed at this point because the police had grilled her for information thoroughly already.

Given the story was the same with all the patrons in the facility, and that the Blue Cosmos wenches were the clear aggressors, there was no question as to how this would go down in the books. The Chief of Police had even commented on Flay's swing as being a helluva knockout blow after reviewing the video on the bar television sets. A couple shots had been hoisted in her honor, such as it were.

It had not taken the EMTs long to realize that the first person Flay had struck down was well and truly dead. The corner of the table had hammered her immediately behind the brainstem, an injury that kills very efficiently in most circumstances and this was no exception. A tablecloth had been draped over the fallen in respect for her, even if she was aggressing against an uninvolved party when she was struck down.

Gerald Lightbringer had entered the facility without any manner of pomp or announcement, followed closely by Edward Harrelson. Halfway to the scene of the brawl, one of the frat-boys glanced away from the replay of Flay's second knockout blow and immediately recognized who he was looking at. "Holy shit, it's the Archangel of Solace!"

Flay glanced in that direction after tearing her view away from the covered body, did a double-take when her mind realized it was another Magi officer, and immediately bolted to attention.

"Sir, sorry, sir! Did not know you had entered, Century Commander," Flay apologized.

"Neg, Oruga, don't stand. I can smell the tequila from here," Gerald ordered, waving him down..

"If you'll excuse my lack of decorum, sir, I've been tased and had a third of a forty, sir," Oruga said somewhat blearily.

"Understandable, given the circumstances," Gerald said sympathetically. "Sabnak, Allster, this is Colonel Edward Harrelson, USSA Mobile Forces."

"You have the apologies of the United States of South America for this wanton attack on you two," Edward said. "At least you are mostly unharmed, and for that we are very grateful."

"As you were, Allster," Gerald said as he kneeled next to the deceased BC operator. He took a moment to lift the head of the sheet, but lowered it after seeing the dead expression of her eyes. "_Requiescat in pace_," he said in a language unfamiliar to Flay, but the meaning was clear: rest in peace.

"The video says it all," Edward Harrelson pointed to the big-screen replay of the event, where the bartender and the frat-boys were going frame-by-frame analyzing the battle.

"And that is the second tango?" Gerald looked to the second lady, who was sitting against one of the bench seats with her shirt piled in her lap and her hands cuffed behind her back.

"I have a name, space-monster," she said crassly to the Century Commander.

"Aff, you do have a name," Gerald replied smoothly. "Your name is dezgra, the dishonored who is only fit for slaying and nothing more. And that is what I will be asking for, that you be released to extradition for assaulting Magi personnel."

"Fuck you, buddy, fuck you," she half-shouted in response.

"Not my type, sorry," Gerald said as he took a seat across the walkway from Flay. "I see now why you knocked her out. Gave you a few minutes of silence."

"A lippy little bitch, she is," Flay agreed. "Okay, what's needed from the Magi end on this, sir?"

"Well, the DA has already cleared you of any wrongdoing. This was a surprise attack by terrorists, nothing more or less, and you reacted to defend yourself and others with all necessary force. Same regs apply on our side, so the only thing needed is a write-up for your Codex. One kill, one capture on Blue Cosmos operations personnel, no civilian casualties and no permanent damage to Magi personnel, so I would call this a significant victory for yourself and a chalk mark for the _Dominion_."

"Oh, yeah," Flay never considered until Gerald mentioned that beating Blue Cosmos lackeys with a napkin dispenser would be considered a successful battle. She then considered that the Magi were famous throughout known Existence for having strange attitudes on the art of beating ass, so credit would be assigned where credit was due.

Edward could no longer contain the sniggering fit he was trying to suppress, and let it loose.

"Also, I would like to request the improvised weapon de rigeur be transferred to my possession to be put on display on the _Dominion_, as proof of the victory."

"I think I can work that out," Edward said, eyeing the Police Chief.

"I'll have it to your berth at the starport, personally, before sunset tomorrow," the Chief noted. "No crime, no need to hold evidentiary items."

"Excellent," Gerald said. "Also, if possible, I will need a copy of the video files for my report to the Star Admiral on this incident." He needed not say that they would be copiously reviewed by the ship's personnel in transit, of course...

"Way ahead of you, _jefe_," the Chief answered. A disc with the video files was presented.

"I think we can call this one well fought and well won," Gerald concluded. "Come on, you two. I'll take you back to the ship. You both look like hell."

-x-x-x-

(21 November CE 72, 1300 Hours)  
(USSA Military Research Facility, Bogota, Colombia)

"Well, ain't this just magnanimous on our part," Captain Jamestown groused.

"Relax, Soritz," Gerald said. "This was inevitable. With the amount of fighters that Creuset shot down, and the other kills, this was bound to happen. I consider it fortunate that one of our allies got the engine, not an enemy."

"And put it to good use," Nikko said.

"Conn, Helm, we are 100 meters over landing zone. Descending slow now."

"Helm, Conn, aye," Jamestown answered.

"They were quite surprised when we told them that we knew about it," Elizabeth noted. "They really didn't expect to keep it secret from us for long, right?"

Gerald glanced at the guest on the bridge, though decided in the end to cover that answer. "I know they were expecting security on the op until they employed it to smash some Earth Alliance asshats," the Century Commander conceded. "They probably were not expecting to have one of our salvage Dropships parked overhead and looking for something to peep on."

"Well, it's what they get for being so obvious about it," Nikko said with a tone of finality on the subject. "And I'm damn glad for it. One of these monsters could turn a good swath of Earth Alliance forces into char marks, and that's not something I'm going to complain about."

"Neither you nor I shall worry about it," Gerald agreed. "And we'll give them the resources to do a couple more, just because we're assholes like that and I like watching the Earth Alliance get stomped by their erstwhile foes."

"Fifty meters, Captain," the Helmsman said.

"Keep her steady and slow, Helm. We've got all day," Jamestown advised.

"Aye, sir. While I'm thinking about it, do we have any plans for newtype machines of our own?" the Helmsman asked.

"We are considering options," Gerald said calmly. "We have a long tradition of it, and even some new frames to put to the use, so..." The guest on the bridge raised an eyebrow to the comment, but said nothing. "Mostly, though, recommissioning our existing platforms is priority; we still have more machines than pilots, and getting what we have in mothballs up and running would give us a major edge just in space alone."

"Roger that," the Helmsman answered adroitly. "25 meters to touchdown."

"Did we ever decide if we were really going to restart the android projects?" Melanie asked after a few moments of silence on the bridge.

"No resources, we can't do 'em if we wanted to." Gerald specifically did not mention the start-up ZAFT AI project, which he had agents inside, to make sure it was done right.

"Right," she groused. "And I kinda like that one guy 'droid."

"Relax, someday we won't be ass deep in military concerns. Someday."

"Touchdown, now, now, now." The ship made several creaking noises after the legs dropped, undoubtedly due to the hull settling under Terran gravity. "We have landed, boss."

"Well, Colonel Harrelson, shall we deliver the present?" Gerald asked the bridge guest. More than one of the Magi personnel groaned, realizing some of their smartass comments involved the USSA. Flay had been wise enough to keep her silence, given she knew who Edward was.

"Certainly. Still can't believe you're just giving these to us, but..." he trailed off when Gerald nodded.

"Flay, front and center," Gerald ordered.

It took Flay several seconds to unstrap from her seat and step up to where the two officers were. "Sir!"

"You're driving today."

"Aff, sir, which vehicle?"

"The Cargomaster in the hangar bay, that has the three trailers, that's it."

Flay grimaced, but said nothing immediately. The Cargmoaster military cargo transport, itself, was three times larger than anything Flay had driven before even in simulation. It also had three trailers, an ostensible collection of extra weight that brought the whole rig up to 300 tons fully loaded. Thankfully, it was slow as hell, as had been evidenced by it loading up in Mendel and taking three hours to do so. Flay considered that she would have plenty of time to correct for any driving failures, given she would be able to walk faster than the Cargomaster could drive.

On the other hand, the size and type of the cargo involved necessitated the massive transport vehicle.

"Can do, sir!"

"On me," Gerald waved her to follow, and she fell in behind Colonel Harrelson on their trek from the bridge to the hangar.

"Seriously, this is no small gift to the USSA, Century Commander. We can not thank you enough for them," Edward said as the three exited onto the ground floor of the hangar area.

"It is the least we can do for your defense, Colonel," Gerald answered politely. "The USSA has gone out of their way to take some heat off of us in months past, and you have some real enemies that just happen to coincide with our list of enemies. More is the better in this case."

"Century Commander on deck!" one of the mechanics shouted as the trio approached the Cargomaster.

"Loadmaster, verify securing clamps and chains have been removed. Allster, get in and fire it up."

"Aff, Century Commander," Flay answered immediately. On this, she knew where the pilot got in and out of the tractor unit, though the pilot was only one of ten crew in the machine.

Inside the cab, Flay settled down into the driver's seat and strapped in once again — if something went wrong, she didn't want to go flying. As no two different units would have the same cockpit, it took her several seconds to find the engine panel and restart the reactor. After a couple seconds of building charge, the engine control panel lit up and indicated that the massive TelStar 400 Fusion Engine was now running and recharging the accumulator. Wholly 52.5 tons of the 150-ton Cargomaster freight tractor was just the engine, a fact that had shocked Flay when she indulged her curiosity.

After twenty seconds, the last indicators on the engine panel went green. On a different control panel, she flipped two switches to activate her panoramic LED monitors, and a dial allowed her to adjust brightness to something more comfortable for her eyes.

"Driver, this is Tank Commander, come back," Gerald said over the vehicle intercom.

"Go for driver," Flay answered curtly.

"Crew Chief reports all restraints have been secured. We are cleared to depart bay. Move her out slow, we've got time to work with."

"Aye, sir!" Flay said wholeheartedly before she loosed the intercom button. Knowing that Gerald would likely not put her in a position to embarrass herself, especially in the USSA, she sighed quietly before her left and right hands moved the throttles forward to 2/3 movement power. The assembly lurched once, clattered twice as the trailers protested the sudden movement, but began trudging forward much as she expected.

Unlike any previous driving experience she may have thought she had, the tracked heavy units (such as the Cargomaster she was now driving) used a pair of throttles or levers to move the tracks independent of each other. It was wildly different from using a steering wheel, but Flay had also quickly learned that there was a major advantage to having two separate axis of movement with tracked units. These tracked units could be very maneuverable in the right hands, though the Cargomaster was not designed for maneuver purposes. It was designed to haul up to 90 tons of cargo in up to 3 trailers, though other trailer combinations existed...

After moving forward twenty meters (a process of seven seconds driving time), the Cargomaster arrived at the ramp down from the decks of the _Dominion_, inevitably leading down to the tarmac below the ship and beyond it the USSA research facility. Flay never felt more unsettled in her life as the massive behemoth began crawling down the ramp, though she considered it thankful that the mass pushing at her rear was not causing her to slide, overspeed, or jackknife — three problems that could have ended this journey in a failure.

Once the three trailers were off the ramp, Flay reached up and pulled down the intercom microphone. "TC, driver, reporting clear of the _Dominion_. What is my destination?"

"Building 4605 is to your right. The door should be opening now to welcome us in. Put the hammer down and turn your caution lights on," Gerald ordered.

Flay looked over her monitors, and saw a single hangar facility with an opening door. "I have it, turning now."

With the extra speed on, Flay exceeded the expected running pace of most people. It was still painfully slow to Flay's way of thinking, but in this case she really didn't want it fast. The job was hazardous enough without adding more variables to the mix. She trudged on, following a pace truck (with the sign 'follow me' on the roof, it was obvious what it was leading her for), and kept an eye out for cross traffic in the area. On the other hand, the distance to traverse was over a kilometer overland distance, not a task calculated to make it easier or less stressful on Flay.

That said, the gap was eventually closed, and she found herself approaching the hangar doors for building 4605. A Marshaller signaled her to stop while they cleared equipment for her ingress, an unusual process to Flay to watch the massive forklifts scurry about clearing her a path.. Once the last of the forklifts were moved out of the way, the marshaller began leading her into the hangar slowly, a pace Flay was all too willing to take especially given the narrow path she had available. With repair gantries to her right and stacks of crates and parts to the left, she was in no hurry to complete the parking, though once past a good ten meters of material the hangar opened up to wide open floor space on either side.

Partway into the hangar, the Marshaller caught a heel on an electrical access and tripped backwards, knocking his head on the ground fairly roughly. Immediately Flay hauled her throttles to the stopping position and was pleased that it only took a few meters for the machine to come to a halt. Several mechanics and a safety officer improvised a stretcher for the downed marshaller, and in less than ten minutes Flay was advancing again into the hangar. The rest of the trek was completely uneventful.

"Driver from TC, please shut down and exit the vehicle. You are wanted on top of the Cargomaster," Flay heard after the new Marshaller signalled her to stop.

"On top of it?" Flay asked for clarification.

"Aff. Get up here ASAP."

Flay didn't respond except by way of popping her personnel hatch. She took the few moments to disengage the engine and shut down her driver's view panels, but beyond that she was out the hatch and atop the vehicle before Lightbringer or Harrelson.

"Whoo yeah! Hottie in the driver's seat!" someone shouted from the floor, followed by a quick wolf-whistle.

"What kind of present did you bring us, lovely lady?" someone else shouted in question.

"Oh no," Flay answered. "Not my surprise to spoil, I'm just driving today!" Flay answered with a tone of mock scolding. She was very thankful that the press did not identify her or take a decent picture, so as to prevent others from knowing about her brawl downtown in Rio De Janeiro.

Harrelson was first out of the crew compartment, which was separate from the driver's compartment due to equipment requirements, so Flay gave him a helping hand up to standing from the top-hatch. As soon as he was recognized, a cheer came up from the crowd. The cheering changed pitch slightly when Gerald was standing next to Harrelson completely. After a few moments, and after Harrelson was sure that Rico was doing as ordered (video-recording the happening), he raised his hands for silence.

The crowd took thirty seconds to come silent, cheering and clapping the whole time, but finally did settle. "_Amigos_! Today is a very good day for Special Project 4605! We have friends in high places, and they like what they see from their allies! So, without further drama, I turn this one over to Century Commander Gerald Lightbringer!"

Again, a cheer and clapping arose from the several hundred gathered mechanics and engineers, though it was short lived. "Ladies and Gentlemen! First off, I would like to congratulate you all on an absolutely amazing coup de main straight out of the Star Empire history books! But, more to the point, we congratulate you all for the choice of a guardian platform like no other. A stalwart that has stood in defiance of everyone who dares to cross its homeland, even we Magi had severe trouble facing it down in centuries past. I can tell you right now, even I would not relish facing down what is behind the curtain in the northeastern corner."

There was a murmur about how Gerald knew it was there, but nothing drastic was said. "A guardian it certainly is, a USSA modification of an old Neo Zeon space-dominance platform; a machine with the soul of the brightest minds in the nation, a frame built of South America's ingenuity, and the burning heart of the old-world Multimages, pulled from a deceased fighter craft and transplanted where it was needed. Yet, it is only one guardian, one machine with finite capabilities and a finite footprint. I look around this hangar, and I see three more such guardians in varying states of construction, and I sense the persons brave enough to pilot them, but I see no burning hearts for they. With no heart, with no soul, even the best guard will collapse eventually."

Gerald knew he had their attention with the metaphor, and more was the better. These were patriots, one and all, working on a project the other nations would literally kill people to acquire, and they knew their hopes and dreams rested in the machines around the hangar. "You men and women possess the soul of the guardian. Your nation possesses and creates the body of the guardian. If I may, allow me to deliver today some heart, that more guardians may stand watch over a staunch and honored ally of the Magi."

Flay barely noticed the flick of Gerald's wrist, an action to trigger a remote switch that began opening the three trailer cargo bay side doors. "Part the ways there! Part the ways!" Edward Harrelson ordered, waving the people clear of the descending cargo doors.

After the doors passed a certain point, a cheer came up from the crowd once more. Each trailer carried a single 26.25-ton Telstar 400XL Fusion Reactor package, palletized for transport but still easily identifiable to anyone in the know, and an extra 3.75 tons of miscellaneous parts for the engines. Three engines, enough to quadruple the forces of the Special Project.

Gerald again waved for silence, and he received it after a few moments. "The Multimage Star Empire is not a political animal in the same way the Earth Alliance is a political construct. We are primarily military and civilian, we buried our politicians eons ago, and good damn riddance to them I daresay." A brief chuckle from the crowd lasted only a few seconds, before Gerald resumed. "We honor our friends, and we bury our enemies. The United States of South America has gone well out of their way to support Mendel and ZAFT over the past year, even in circumstances where it was clearly in your best interest to back off or turn away. Such conduct is the hallmark of honor and principle, not political calculation, and for that the Magi are grateful to this nation."

A cheer came up again, though it was short-lived as Edward called for silence again. Gerald decided it was time to wrap up. "We recognize that the USSA has one massive enemy right now, in fact the same enemy we are benighted with. With these engines, you can better defend your lands against the genocide from your northern neighbors. Take them, and use them well in defense of this marvelous land. We shall do what we can to support our allies on the ground, as you have supported us in months past in the skies above!"

Flay was never one for music concerts, but she had little trouble imagining that the cheer from the mechanics was not far off what would have been heard at such a venue.

-x-x-x-

(7 December CE 72, 0100 Hours)  
(Biofuels Processing Facility number 37, Northern Nebraska, Atlantic Federation Territory)

A single ghost approached from the western side of the facility, returning to the staging ground of the rest of the team. "We have path, but must be cautious," Hawk Longfeather told his team.

"What gives?" Star Commander Megan Garibaldi asked.

"The facility runs full staff. Much movement." Hawk needed to say nothing more. One of the easiest and most accidental ways to find a Ghost was to inadvertently run face-first into the cloaked trooper. More Ghost operations had been blown by accidental contact than by any manner of deliberate search.

"We will have to take the chance," Megan decided after a few seconds. "We deploy. We try to cause a natural failure, barring that we do it the military way." Her premise was based on the thought of making a blast or fire look like an industrial accident was preferable to using explosives, since the damage caused would be readily evident as sabotage. Industrial accidents happened all the time, but sabotage had to have an origin, though even sabotage had ways of doing it without directly fingering a Ghost.

"Follow close," Hawk said laconically. The three Ghosts stacked on him and began the approach march to the western fence area where a bored guard was not paying good attention to his guard post and had left the gate open.

"That one is napping on the job. Should I do 'em?" Thomas asked.

"Neg, leave him. The blast will take care of business," Amania recommended.

"I hear ya," Thomas answered. The four Ghosts continued their march into the heart of the plant, unhindered and unimpressed by the security. Fuels Processing facilities among the old Star Empires were always heavily guarded, since they were considered high-value targets and the Magi had a bad habit of blowing them up when open hostilities were at hand. Megan figured that the Earth Alliance was now in line to learn that very costly lesson.

All four of the Ghosts figured this was a major escalation on the part of Mendel, but hardly an unjustifiable one. Blue Cosmos had been trying to (and to a small extent succeeded) in causing havoc inside the colonies and around the land-holdings of the colony groups, so the Century Commander had decided payback would now be in order. Unlike the BC Operators, though, the Mendel Ghosts were trained on how to do stealth the right way.

Once inside the fence, the facility began almost immediately, with pipes, tanks, processing buildings, and all manner of industry easily within molotov cocktail range of the outside perimeter. Security, as such, was the bare minimum and would have been hard-pressed to defend against a class of sixth-graders armed with popsicle sticks.

"What is the major option here?" Megan asked her subordinates.

"We have to hit the endpoint, no hope of setting off a batch of corn until after it is processed into biofuel," Thomas pointed out fairly.

"Infrastructure," Megan ordered.

"Fuel tanks and transport pipes would be the best bet," Amania said.

"Offload station," Hawk added.

"Dodge left!" all four ghosts moved out of the way of an oncoming forklift. "Keep marching."

"That was close," Thomas groused. "What kind of options do we have at the fill station?" Thomas asked.

"Tanker fill ports," Hawk said. "People, hold." All four Ghosts stopped and watched as a couple plant engineers walked past, chatting gaily about how they had jobs and were not trying to fight over space in a breadline.

"Make for the offload station," Megan said. "A disruption nearby the tanks, or at the tanker fill points, could be catastrophic for the whole plant."

"Follow," Hawk effectively ordered.

The plant was actually surprisingly large and efficient for an Earth Alliance operation, Megan realized. It was arrayed in a five-prong star pattern, a bit unusual for such facilities, but not entirely outside the realm of good engineering sense. The northeastern prong held the storage tanks and distribution facilities, with the other four prongs feeding material into the central processing facilities. Megan figured that an attack on the central facility would be crippling to this operation, but painfully obvious as to who did it and how.

The achilles' heel of any such operation had to be the output, and herein it was no different. After they skirted the central processing area around to the distribution node, it became clear what was feasible and what was gravy operations. "Twenty tanks, someone has a lot of gas stored up," Thomas announced.

"I see twenty big, fat targets," Amania groused.

"Yes and no," Megan retorted sharply. "We want to do this nice and smart, people. We have one chance at crippling this facility and knocking a serious hole in the Earth Alliance fuel reserves, so we play this one on the razor's edge. Follow?"

"Aff, milady, what is your desire?"

"I am thinking," Megan answered. "Okay, the two major targets we want to hit are the tanks and the pipeline feeds over there to the right. The tanks are Echo Zulu Sauce, those drain valves at the bottom look easy to compromise, just locked down with chains. Hawk, you have a Forearm Knife, correct?" Megan was referring to an underarm blade that had been copied by the infantry from the defensive weapon of the Heavyarms Gundam. It was favored by the Ghosts because of its immense cutting power even when unheated, and it was a perfectly silent way to kill.

"Aff," Point Officer Longfeather answered calmly.

"You have the tanks. Open eight of the twenty in strategic locations, and egress the area. Amania, Thomas, you have the pipeline houses. Open them all up, ram the pipelines to dislodge, and retreat. I have the tanker stations and control shack. Move to jumpoff and standby for execution on my mark only. All personnel egress and return to staging location at best possible silent speed. I want to de-ass this area in one hour, tops."

"Aff, Star Commander." As one, the three Ghosts disconnected from Megan's generator pack, now running on internal battery power only. As they only needed to use 60 percent cloak for invisibility in these environs, they had theoretical days of charge to do their job.

Megan was the slowest to advance on her objective, but for two different reasons. First, the pump control shack was the only lighted and guarded facility in the middle of the night for the distribution areas. Second, the pump shack had one of the few security cameras in the area, which Megan did not want to chance being seen on. Third, there was an actual person inside the shack, who would have to be killed to make this work right, as would have to be the driver of the one tanker truck that was taking on fuel at the facility.

It was fortunate to Megan that she did not have to wait long. The driver of the truck approached the shack with a clipboard in hand, doubtless to get some paperwork signed while his tanker filled. Megan drew her personal sidearm, a H/K SOCOM with suppressor, and waited for the right time to strike.

"How much you drawing?" the pump shack operator asked.

"55,000 pounds," the trucker answered. "Sign this, please."

"Yeah, no prob." The driver signed off without hesitation. Megan reached up with her pistol to the camera's lens system, and the muzzle of the canister suppressor came within a centimeter of touching it. "Here. Have a nice evening."

After the truck driver took a full two paces away from the shack, Megan fired her first shot into the camera, then brought the pistol down and aimed into the door of the shack. A second shot dropped the attendant without any form of reflexive action. The impact of the body caused the driver to turn back to the shack, where he saw the dead attendant. "What the hell?" He asked nobody in particular. It was the last question of his life, as Megan drilled him in the head from five meters.

"All personnel, execute," Megan ordered on a short-wave highly-encrypted radio transmission. She holstered her pistol and dashed for the truck, where there would assuredly be a safety kit and likely a road flare to use in the same way Benjamin had weeks prior. Much as she suspected, one was present (they were required on all trucks in the Earth Alliance, so they were plentiful), and she picked out all the flares from the kit for use at a later time.

As she began the dash back to the control booth, the alarms began in earnest for the damage to the pipe pumps, followed shortly by the alarms for the tanks. Megan had calculated for that, and she had only a minute to get this party started before a first responder could interfere. On her way back, she opened the local valves for the 2, 3 and 4 truck filling stations, which would make her next action effective and explosive.

Inside the tanker shack, the fuel flow to the truck fills were controlled by a series of twist controls on the panel. She twisted full open the number 1 truck slot that was feeding the tanker, and opened in series the 2, 3, and 4 valves to blow fuel on the ground nearby. Outside, the sound of crunching metal and rapidly flowing fuel came from the pipe pump houses, a sound Megan wanted to hear. Compromising the vast underground pipe network in Atlantic Federation territory was impossible, but damaging the pipe feeds out from this plant was not impossible for a Ghost.

The indicator panel in the shack showed five of the tanks were now draining onto the ground, and the valves were local control only, so there would be no stopping this explosive nightmare when Megan struck the fuse. She stepped over the dead attendant and back out the shack, then turned north to clear the tanks and begin a dash for the fence and the truck gate. Her systems recognized the handiwork of Hawk as he compromised the seventh tank and began moving on the eighth storage tank, so she stopped roughly forty meters from the truck fill stations and turned back to take one good look before she lit the match.

"Honor and_ Xin Sheng, _assholes," she said before she struck the flare, reciting a mantra of her homeland, the Capellan Confederation territories of the Empire. After letting it complete ignition for two seconds, she whipped it toward the tanker truck and turned to make a full run to the truck gate.

"You crazy bitch!" Thomas audibly shouted (not using the radio) as they arrived at the gate guard shack. Two shots to the chest on each of the two guards, and a shot apiece to the three gate cameras, ended any threat of clear identification. The camera results were a moot point, however, as before the gate could be partially opened to allow them exit the fuel at the tanker station ignited, providing the ultimate distraction at a fuel refinery: fire.

"Why not light off the tanks?" Amania asked after she connected up to the charge pack.

"Ethanol fumes are explosive, and it vaporizes below room temperature. The fire at the tanker station will set off the pump houses, which will set off the tanks. Instant chain reaction," Megan disclosed the remainder of her plan.

"Damn I love being Ghost," Hawk Longfeather commented after he connected up.

"The Earth Alliance will be feeling their greased assholes from this one," Thomas said with clear cheer to voice. They were outside the fence and trudging west at a brisk walk pace

"We just put the resistance on the map for this one," Megan noted as the loud _crump_ sound of exploding fumes from the pump farm reached them. With two of the three objectives in massive flames now, it was only a matter of time before the tank farm ignited, and at that point the inferno would be effectively unstoppable.

-x-x-x-

(15 December CE 72, 1330 Lima (GMT -5))  
(Chicago, Illinois, North America, Atlantic Federation Territory)

"No More War!" One of the ladies in the assorted crowd shouted.

"No more blood for political gain!" another lady shouted at the barracks of the Earth Alliance garrison.

"Give peace a chance!" A guy shouted.

Carlie simply joined the crowd, not shouting anything so much as she was trying to gauge the real sympathy of the crowd ands show silent support for these brave souls.

Politics in the Earth Alliance were a hard thing. Without question even the most naïve civilians knew the Earth Alliance was effectively commanded by Blue Cosmos, but only a few civilians knew (or believed) that LOGOS controlled both of them from higher still. Carlie hoped that the ground intel packages she was sending to Mendel's administration (by way of a Marine she knew by name) were being put to good use. The Marine, in keeping with good cover legend, sent back rather sappy love letters and the occasional trinket or snack food. She had grown rather fond of grape Hi-Chew, something produced by the metric ton in Mendel. Carlie had also grown extremely fond of the rather flowery love letters from the Marine, and envisioned once the Earth Alliance crashed, she would move to Orb (where he was stationed as an Embassy Marine) and go out on a real date with him. Something about old-dialect English, and her imagination of a hardened Marine speaking in the older ways, turned her on like nothing else.

"No More War!" the chant series repeated.

Carlie didn't pay much heed to the protestors, her interest was in the Earth Alliance Infantry. Her father had been Infantry before the first war, and he had instructed her on the ways to tell good infantry from bad, and disheartened infantry from high-spirited infantry. After the arrival of Mendel, Carlie's father moved to Mendel but returned by way of Equatorial for visits. His report on the Marines was glowing; not only were they complete hardass troops, their morale was insanely high and their will to combat was second to none. He considered them 'infantry willing to take on a lion with a pocketknife, and they ran a good chance of winning mano-a-mano.'

These Earth Alliance infantry were not just rotten, they were scared. The troops were all armed with their usual rifles and vests, but the looks of fear on their faces were impossible to miss. Crowds like this protest had overwhelmed garrison barracks in recent weeks and slain the infantry, then dispersed before action could be taken against them. Of course, investigations had found some of the perpetrators and ringleaders, but the attacks kept coming. People were no longer completely terrified by the Earth Alliance or Blue Cosmos, and the loss of terror meant the Earth Alliance was beginning to rot from within. Every great empire in Existence collapsed in the same fashion, and the Earth Alliance was going the way of America, Rome, Greece, Soviet Russia, and China of centuries past. Corruption, followed by tyranny, followed by collapse, followed by revolution (or invasion in a few cases), all the hallmarks were the same, only the players and the timeframe were different.

"What do we want?" A lady shouted on a megaphone.

"PEACE!" the crowd at large retorted with a massive bellow.

"When do we want it?" the lady continued the traditional chant.

"NOW!" The crowd concluded.

The chant continued for several repeats, and Carlie continued the observation of the barracks and troops. The individual infantryman was also not much of a concern to her — only a complete hardass would be able to stop the growing crowd, and that with a couple grenades and his assault rifle. The heavy weapons teams, however, changed the equation to a significant degree. A pair of machine guns were readily visible in the area, as well as several light machine guns, which would make for a bloody smoothie on the ground out here if they were put into action. Also of note, the local garrison commander was passing instructions out to his men, likely in preparation for either crowd-busting or defense from a rush attack.

Carlie pushed more into the center of the crowd, looking for more of a core sentiment among the protestors next. When she got in close, though, she came to a stark realization: the core of the crowd were not protestors, but professional resistance fighters. Atlantic Freedom Organization resistance fighters were just as ruthless as Blue Cosmos, though their efforts were aimed against Blue Cosmos and the Earth Alliance. Carlie had wondered if Mendel was supporting the AFO, but the answer was clear when she copped a feel on a decidedly non-EA submachine gun in the crowd.

With that kind of firepower, it was only a matter of time until the dance began. The bark of a sniper rifle was impossible to miss, but the result was even more surprising when the Captain went down from a chest shot. A second shot rang out, and one of the heavy machine gunners dropped. By now, part of the crowd (the actual peaceniks) were starting to panic, but the AFO were also beginning to move.

"Storm the Barracks! PEACE THROUGH STRENGTH!" Someone shouted.

It was the kickoff Carlie expected, and altogether dreaded. As a safety measure, she turned away from the assault; her job of intelligence was far more important than a simple assault action, and by the sounds of it the AFO troops had that part well in hand. Just the same, the Earth Alliance troops were waiting for them, and the kickoff also started a cavalcade of defensive fire. She moved along the periphery, following the peaceniks as they ran from the fighting, though even in the clearly retreating group she still took a minor hit to the arm and one to her torso just to the side of her breast. Once across the street she stopped to watch the evolving battle, but by that time it was already mostly done.

It would not be a full minute before the shooting died down and the flames began. Another day, another barracks torched. Mendel would want to know about it firsthand, since the press were being suppressed on the matter.

-x-x-x-

(27 December CE 72, 0800 Hours Lima (UTC+1))  
(Hedemora Spaceport, Hedemora, Sweden, Kingdom Of Scandinavia)

For once, Flay was on duty but was not at the sensors panel. The distinction was simple: she still had to place for basic equipment handling, so Gerald had her down in the hangar bay with a cargo exoskeleton, a 30-minute briefing and trial-by-fire, and now a dozen more such units (besides herself) had to hit the ground to move material into the ship.

The purpose of their tasking counted as odd, though. It was not often that an Assault Monitor was called on to move simple freight from a ground location to the colonies. In most cases, such a transport would fall under the categories of 'manpower expensive' and 'defensive overkill', but in this instance there was a reason. Handel Manufacturing, the firm that was likely to become Mendel's go-to team for most things infantry, wanted to set up a munitions plant in Mendel II. Blue Cosmos was making noise about operations in Sweden. Star Admiral Centara had decided that the _Dominion_ was the go-to guys for strange operations requiring extensive amounts of whoopass should something go wrong. Needs drive operations, such as they are, which created the present order package and Flay's crash-course in using an industrial exoskeleton.

The unit of choice was a true marvel of Coordinator engineering combined with Magi materials sciences. Henry Cargo Exoframes were small, powerful, could fold up into a thin package for storage, and best of all were extremely cheap. At 64,000 c-bills per unit, they cost less than a heavy forklift and roughly ten of the exoframes weighed the same as a small forklift. It was no surprise to Flay that the _Dominion_ had two dozen of the buggers folded up in a cargo hold, awaiting any possible needed use, at the price point they were selling at she could finance two a year off the 'take' from her family business without denting her cut of the profits.

The ship had landed at 0600 hours local (Lima) time, though the order to commence loading had not come down yet. In all reality, Flay expected some manner of guff here; Sweden had to maintain its air of neutrality, being so close to the heart of the Eurasian Federation, so the appearance of a warship to collect the material, even if approved in advance, would still cause some consternation.

"All right, Flay, spill it," one of the Engine mechanics said, which struck Flay as a bizarre way to begin a conversation.

"Erm, what?" Flay asked. "What about?"

"You and Oruga. Did you really meet at a bar?" the lady engine mechanic clarified her original question.

"Yes and no," Flay answered, deciding that taking a classic Magi dual-answer position would be wise here. "Yes, I gave him my number in a slightly stealthy fashion at a bar. No, our first date was not at a bar. It was at El Cactus in Mendel."

"Lemme guess, the Sniper Bar and Grill?" the Engine Mechanic asked.

"Well, yeah, most famous bar in Mendel," Flay said.

"Infamous would be better a description," Century Commander Lightbringer corrected her while he began to strap himself into a cargo frame. "Listen up, all of you!" He shouted at the other cargoframes. "Most of you don't have experience in exoframes, so take it slow and steady! Our parking permit is good to midday tomorrow, so I want this done fast enough to look like we're working but slow enough to make sure it is done right. Any questions?"

"No sir!" A structures technician shouted in response.

"Move out! Cargo doors will be open by the time we get there!"

Flay pushed forward against the leg plates of the exoframe, and the control systems did the rest. Thousands of years of engineering experience had gone into the design and control systems, the rest was in the hands of the pilot. And Flay figured she had this, for all it was an otherwise alien technology to most earth-dwellers.

-x-

(6 Hours Later)

"Man, this is a real wench of a job," Sensor Operator Melody groused. "I know I qualified on these things back in Basic, never expected to have to use them."

"Them's the breaks," Flay replied with a slightly cynical tone. "Lunch break?"

"Yeah, works for me," Melody nodded as she unstrapped her arms from the frame and locked the legs in place.

Flay pulled out of the main walk area and backed her frame into a space between the legs of the Raider Gundam. "Cargo 11 to control, reporting out of service for lunch / crew rest. Also show Cargo 19 as out of service, same code, over," Allster reported by radio.

"Cargo 11, roger report on 11 and 19. Will call you when 2-0 minutes have cleared. Control is out."

"Here," Flay tossed Melody a MRE after she unstrapped her arms from the manipulator controls and locked her own legs in place.

"Ah, vegetarian chili, good eats," Melody said after she pulled the entree from the MRE pack. "One thing I've been wondering, are you related to the Allster Enterprises family?"

"Promise not to hold it against me?" Flay asked after a moment of considering her tack.

"Well, yeah, I wasn't going to hold it against you regardless," Mel answered slightly indignantly.

"I am the current heir to the business, since my father was killed in the war," Flay admitted.

"Nice," Melody answered. "You're not taking that over? Why?"

"I will, but only after the coming war is won," Allster shrugged. "The whole thing is in trust right now, and it's accumulating here in Mendel by way of a four-part currency exchange: My dividends pay into a savings account, my lawyer pulls those and sends them to a currency-exchange account in Equatorial, I have an auto-transfer exchange into an account in Scandinavia, a third transfer converts them into funds in an account in Orb, and from Orb I do a straight-transfer into C-bills here in Mendel."

"That's...well, confusing," Melody noted.

"It's a necessity. Equatorial will play nice with the Earth Alliance, Scandinavia generally does not, and Orb definitely does not, and it is illegal to do business dealings in Mendel with a member of the NDIA. Thus, convert down the ladder in steps, friendly, neutral, less-than-neutral, hostile. I lose roughly ten percent the whole way around, but I'm only siphoning a small percentage of my dividends and I don't use the take here in Mendel except as needed."

"And hasn't anyone said anything about you being the heir to a business producing weapons for use against Mendel?" Melody asked, though not in an accusatory fashion.

"Yeah, Gerald and I talked it over when I signed up," _and several times afterwards_, she thought but did not say. "Not much I can do, really, not until the Earth Alliance is under new management. If we ever get to that point," Flay admitted her fears on the subject. "Remember, the National Defense Industry Association is the front-face of the handling authority over Blue Cosmos. If I make too many moves away from that policy, questions are asked and contracts are issued."

"And there's also the possibility of a management ejection if you do something like that in absentia," Melody took the thought in a different direction. "Man, you're really stuck in a shitcan on this one. Heiress to a massive business conglomerate that you can't do much with except soak dividends, former crew of the defector warship _Archangel_, now crew of the captured warship _Dominion_, the only thing your résumé is missing is a stint in Blue Cosmos and you'd have the full pattern." Flay gagged while trying to eat some of the cheese tortellini from her MRE, and spent the next thirty seconds sputtering because of it. "You all right, girl?"

"I'll live," Flay groused. "Damn, didn't know trying to inhale marinara sauce was so painful," she hacked a couple more times before she settled down. "Yeah, that about sums it up nicely. Caught in the middle my whole life," Flay admitted; "and I'm tired of it. I'm here to unscrew some of these problems in my life, and damn glad Century Commander Lightbringer gave me the chance to do so."

"Well, welcome to the party," Shani Andras said as he brought his cargo exoskeleton up next to the ladies. "Central, Cargo 31 reporting out of service for lunch and crew rest. Start me a timer, honey," Shani said.

"Roger that, sweet-cheeks," the burly guy among the two maintenance controllers responded. "And I'll see you out behind the maintenance shack after the loading is done," he played the standing joke to the hilt.

Flay could not help but giggle at the look of pure dread on Shani's face.

-x-x-x-

(6 January CE 73, 1030 Hours Lima (UTC-5))  
(Undisclosed location, North America, Atlantic Federation Territory)

"Is this confirmed?" Lord Djibril asked the intelligence officer that presented the document.

"It is still a little bit shaky, the exact dates have not been narrowed down, but we do have a 2-week window. Sometime in April, we have a damn good chance to kidnap her."

"This is a real coup," Djibril nodded twice. "If we get her, we can give ZAFT a symbol that not even their most idyllic is not outside our reach. Ransom or simple execution are options at that time."

"Or you could theoretically use the capture against Mendel, sir," the Intel Officer noted.

"Do you think Mendel will give a damn what we do with her?" Djibril asked coldly. "This is Mendel we are talking about, a living culture of death that make the Vikings look like pussies. If we killed her, they would raise a monument to her," Djibril miscalculated their position on many levels.

"I dunno, sir," the Intel Officer said cautiously. "All the Mendel troops I've talked to, they're less concerned about dying than they are about wiping us out."

"I want a position paper on that, if it is true," Djibril said carefully. Unlike Azrael, he swore up and down he would not make the mistake of underestimating his foes. Only problem with his present planning was that he was still underestimating his foes and their intelligence apparatus.

"I will write it up as soon as possible. Do you want me to relay any orders to the field agents?"

"Yes, please have them continue feeding us intel on her itinerary for this trip. We need firm intel to know what and where to strike," Djibril set the report down on his desk. "You are dismissed. Please have my secretary come in."

"Yes, sir," the Intelligence Officer bowed out and turned to the door.

Less than a minute later, his secretary was in the room. Unbeknownst to most of his associates, the secretary was also a guard, a confidant, a strategist, and a lover to Lord Djibril. Also, unbeknownst to Djibril, the Magi knew he was dallying with the secretary, courtesy of a pair of their Recon Ghosts, though what position she held vis-a-vis the present LOGOS chief was still a mystery to them.

"You summoned, sir?"

"Yes, I have a wet one that needs personnel and assets assigned. Kidnap operation, very-high-value target, unlikely to resist but likely to have armed guards."

"Our best personnel for a kidnap will be the Lodonia recruits, but not for the extraction or holding. Some of the regulars from the Midwest Recruiting Area would be best for holding her."

"Do we have a suitable location for holding her? Something out of urban areas, but still on the grid in case we have to make a statement?" Djibril queried after he considered the base manpower needed for this.

"We have a few locations throughout North America that can do the job," the secretary recalled.

"Start moving personnel for this snatch-and-extract into place, and activate a decent holding house. I want to be ready when the window opens."

"If I may ask, sir, who are we planning to kidnap?" the Secretary asked after she wrote down the necessary considerations.

Djibril looked out the window, over the frozen and snow-covered landscape of the North American plains. The peacefulness of a foot of snow would not last long, and just as the weather changed here on Earth, he intended to turn space from peaceful silence into a warzone before the end of the new year. On the other hand, this kidnap detail was a personal vendetta for her interference in the first Bloody Valentine War; in due time, he would have his vengeance on Mendel, on the Three Ships Alliance, and on ZAFT.

"Lacus Clyne."

-x-x-x-

(20 January CE 73, 1700 Hours UTC)  
(Debris Belt Shoal Zone, nearby Junius Seven Graveyard)

"Come on, Shani! I know you can do better than this!" Gerald taunted his subordinate as he weaved through debris in the area, making things difficult to impossible for the younger Gundam pilot in locking him up.

"Agh! Lousy bugger!" Shani bit off calling his superior 'a lousy bastard', but did so in a clean fashion. "Oruga!"

"Busy!" Oruga responded immediately, as he was trying to suppress Wendy Barus and prevent her from closing in on Shani, Argus or himself.

"Clotho!" Shani continued.

"Fuck off! I'm tangling with the final boss, here!"

"Looks like it's just you and me greenhorn," Gerald said with enough of a hint of malice to push Shani toward the will to combat.

"Fine by me, old geezer," Shani hammered his throttle to join Gerald in the dance among the debris.

"If only you knew the truth, sibko brat, if only," Gerald countered as he took a couple shots at Shani between debris clusters. Both shots of the beam rifle bent around the Geschmeidig Panzer defensive system on the Forbidden, a result of no damage even in simulation.

"Yeah yeah, and if only my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle," Shani groused as he took several shots of his own, none of which contacted Gerald. "I hate debris fields."

"Get used to it, we'll have to defend the debris belt from Blue Cosmos when the shit hits the fan," Gerald admonished the Forbidden pilot.

"Hate to change the tune, guys, but it looks like the shit and the fan are getting friendly right now," Flay said over the training circuit. "Stand by for further radio traffi — scratch that, all units cease combat actions right now, stand by for orders."

"Aww man, ain't this the suck," Clotho said. "And I was really gettin' into this whole week of Shoal Zone training."

"What's the scoop Operator?" Wendy Barus asked.

"Stand by, still receiving status update," Flay said.

"Has Blue Cosmos hit the colonies again?" Gerald asked, unable to sense anything going on in either the direction of Mendel or ZAFT territory.

"No, doesn't involve us," Flay misinterpreted his question. "All right, I have the intel. Looks like some kind of Earth Alliance Spec Ops group hit Armory One, snatch and extract operation against ZAFT special assets. They are using a cloaked ship, and we can't get a cut to it because it's out of range of the _Mjolnr_, but Strategic Officer Calamira Weste has them pegged."

"Bad choice of phrasing there, girl," Wendy Barus noted.

"What?" Flay asked.

"Depending on who you ask, 'pegging' can mean quite a few different things, and some of them are freaky-funky bedtime shit," Angel Three noted pensively.

"Later, Wendy," Gerald ordered curtly. "Continue, Flay."

"Calamira Weste has determined that the tango is headed for us, or more specifically, heading for Junius Seven and will hook through the debris belt to shake any possible tailing forces, then back to the moon."

"And we happen to be right in their path," Alicia Yamato commented with a savage smile. "Can we play with their new toys, sir?"

"I intend it," Gerald answered savagely. "The code Zelbriggen demands that once the Earth Alliance attacked Armory One, we could not interfere without a direct request from ZAFT. If the Earth Alliance was grabbing and running with something that ZAFT wants to keep secret, they would not ask for assistance. However, once the Earth Alliance force breaks contact, they are no longer engaged and considered fair game for us. In this case, I think we will engage direct, ambush a foe that shows no willingness to fight fair of their own right, but we do this harder than they can respond to."

"Well, that obviates passing on the orders," Flay groused. "Calamira wanted us to bust that ship, but it looks like great and devious minds think alike."

"If only you knew, Flay, if only," Gerald said pensively.

"Here we go again," Shani sighed.

Gerald decided to bypass that old aunt/uncle wheeze for the moment. "Flay, patch me through to the _Mjolnr_ CIC circuit, please, high priority."

"Aye, sir," Flay said. She was silent for a few moments as she worked the commands out. "_Mjolnr_ CIC, this is Operator Flay Allster, warship _Dominion_. I have priority link from CC Lightbringer for the duty officer."

"This is Captain Glennaste Ward, _Mjolnr_ watch officer, I am listening. Send your traffic, _Dominion_."

"Ward, Lightbringer. No doubt you have seen the fracas at Armory One?" Gerald said by way of the _Dominion_'s C3 link to the _Mjolnr_.

"Aye, sir, and a bang-up job the Earth Alliance did on this one. Their ship is certainly capable of pulling its weight. What do you want from the 'Old Mo' to scrap it down, sir?"

"Just my Mobile Armor. Can you patch through to the _Mjolnr_ Mobile Forces Command Circuit?"

"Aff, sir, wait one," A pause of thirty seconds before anything else was said. "You are active on the MA circuit, sir,"

"On, Solace, awaken," Gerald ordered, an apocryphal command that only his Mobile Armor would recognize.

"I am awake. What is thy order, Gerald?" the voice of the AI in his Mobile Armor responded.

"We have some business, hunting warships in a few days. Launch from the _Mjolnr_, route past Asgard and into the debris belt, then anti-spinward to the position of the _Dominion_ for rendezvous with me."

"As ordered, sir. _Mjolnr_ Flight Control, this is Angel Zero, requesting immediate clearance to launch for ferry to _Dominion_."

"Angel Zero, _Mjolnr_, cleared launch at this time."

"Good luck, old one," Captain Ward said. "I look forward to beers and battle ROMs from this engagement. _Mjolnr_ is out." The radio link popped after it cut.

"In six hours, my Mobile Armor will be here," Gerald announced. "Depending on how the enemy ship enters the shoal zone, we will have either partial or complete surprise on our side. I want them captured alive, if this is a special operations group, I want to bleed them for intel. Any questions?"

"How much fun are we allowed to have while capturing them?" Shani asked.

It would be the question of the day, and the operating principle of the battle to come.

-x-

(4 days later, 24 January CE 73, 0100 Hours UTC)  
(Debris Belt Shoal Zone, in the vicinity of Junius Seven)

_The enemy ship approaches; they will be dropping cloak shortly_, Calamira's subordinate Strategic Psionic Ashe informed the bridge crew of the _Dominion_. After Calamira bird-dogged the ship, she had delegated tracking to the trio of Leon, Ashe, and Sapphire. Doing so had made things easier on the otherwise-overworked Strategic Psionic, and gave them extended operational experience.

"You heard the young lady, time to get ready," Soriz ordered. "Chief of the Watch, sound general quarters."

As the alarm began blaring, a contact showed up on the _Dominion_'s sensors. "Conn, sensors, I show one contact, naval, outside the debris belt, solid track by infra-red sensor systems."

"Sensors, Conn, verify all broadcast systems are locked out," Soritz said. In battles past, concealed Magi forces had been found by way of just their C3 networks, which was a rude shock to the Magi at least at the time.

"All systems are off," Flay confirmed after she checked the signals board. "We are black hole at this time."

"All right, laser-transmit to Gerald that the party is about to start," Jamestown ordered.

"Angel Zero, _Dominion_, stand to for imminent party," Flay said. His only response was to twitch his machine's hand in a thumbs-up gesture, preventing the possibility of a communications intercept.

"Looks like they're entering the corridor just as we expected," Soritz said as he watched the sensor track. "All right, people, get ready to shag it. This one is going to be messy."

A few minutes elapsed as the crew waited silently, watching as the ship entered visual range and then approached the initial point for the ambush.

_The enemy lookouts have spotted you! Begin your assault before you lose initiative_! Strategic Disciple Ashe told Soritz by way of long-range telepathy. Flay also heard it.

"Do it, kids!" Jamestown half-shouted.

"Angel Zero, go mission!" Flay half-shouted on C3. "Calamity, Heavyarms launch!"

"Solid lock, firing Valiants!" the weapons officer said, just before the ship jolted from the coilguns' (minor) recoil.

"Two solid hits, weapons. Keep the pressure on, but stay away from his engine spaces!" Jamestown was now fully 'in the zone' as he tended to go when in battle, and could be a little excitable about the engagement.

"Enemy launch mobile suits, I show two 105 Daggers in flight!" Nikko shouted on the command band.

"Damn good timing, Soritz, caught them with their flies unzipped and a jar of KY handy," Lightbringer said with cheer to voice. "Remember, this is a new model Warship, and they have three new model machines. I want them taken alive, intact if possible. Isorla to the man that makes it reality!"

"He likes a challenge," Melody commented without putting it out on the radio.

"I'll just shoot off her beam cannon turrets, make sure she can't shoot up my ride home," Oruga decided as he began turning in on the enemy Warship.

"Save some for me, Sibko brat," Argus Deville chided Oruga after Flay's boyfriend blew one of the turrets apart with paired beam shots. Flay considered the one downside to being a bridge bunny was that she couldn't see what was going on except through her sensor panel.

"Pikers, the lot of you," Gerald griped at them all. "I've got the missile block on the dorsal surface. You guys get in and smash the rest of those turrets and any CIWS systems on it!"

Two more 105 Daggers launched from the enemy ship, though the cry came up shortly afterwards: "Launch Forbidden, Raider!" Nikko ordered.

"Weapons, deploy and train Gottfrieds, do not fire at this time," Soritz ordered.

"I think I'll like this boss battle," Clotho said with cheer to voice.

"Don't get slap-happy, Clotho," Alicia ordered in counter. "Capture as many as possible, it is hard to interrogate a dead guy."

Flay watched the jockeying on her radar, seeing that Clotho had indeed made good on his desire to toy with the Daggers. Even improved and refitted from their time in the first war, they were no match against the Raider. Another point of interest to Flay was Shani's approach against the ship, where his contact merged with the ship briefly. "The Forbidden has landed!"

"Two more machines in the skies! Unknown classification!" Sensors Operator 3 — Tiara Graley, Flay had learned her name after not truly meeting her for weeks on the ship — made sure the mobile forces knew there were new fish in the water.

"I have the new machines. Focus on the ship," Gerald ordered.

"Whoa, I have a burr up my ass here," Shani cursed as the third unidentified machine tried to grapple with him.

Alicia Yamato's contact merged with the enemy warship, showing that she had landed on it. "Attention Earth Alliance unidentified Warship, this is Gundam Pilot Alicia Yamato, Mendel Warship _Dominion_. You are hereby ordered to stand down all Mobile Forces and surrender your ship, or face the consequences of your piracy,"

"Yes! Nothing like paired Satellite Cannons pointed at your Warship to say 'fuck you, buddy' and make it worthwhile!" Nikko whooped in joy.

"Gerald, Alicia, enemy ship has surrendered! We've won!" Alicia put out on the command band.

The Century Commander's response was anything but jubilant. "I think the Gundams they captured think otherwise. Shani, can you take the black one?" Gerald asked.

"Aff, sir, I have her wrapped up, can you deal with the other two?" Shani replied formally, a strange thing to lapse into while fighting, at least to Flay's way of thinking.

"Shani must be really pushing it hard against the black machine," Tiara commented. "Flay, can you direct missiles into it if needed?"

"I should be able to," Flay answered. She didn't have as much time on the missile targeting systems as she wanted, but combat rarely ever gave someone everything they needed up front.

"I have your asses right where I want them," Gerald said over an open frequency to the trailing pilots. "Come and get me, if you dare."

One of the enemy pilots bit hard on the taunt: "I SO want your head for a trophy, you crotchety old bastard!"

"A whole Empire wants his head, good fucking luck, boy," Commander Carlie Gray answered without putting it out on the radio. Flay had overheard the commander and missed what the Century Commander had to say in response.

"Auel, no!" One of the two enemy pilots chasing Gerald shouted.

"Gerald is up to something — wait for it!" Nikko said with cheer.

"I **am** the Archangel of Solace, boy!" Gerald said in two ways — by radio, and by Newtype Telepathy; the delay in the radio transmission caused an echo that sounded almost of echo magnification, making his declaration even more ominous to Flay.

"What the fuck is this?" Auel half-shouted in fear. Flay could tell it was probably him, given the other machine had not approached and it was the same pilot that was trying to take Gerald's head.

"I am bound forever to those who do not want to go quietly into the night!" Gerald continued.

"Holy shit, look to starboard!" Tiara said, pointing. When Flay looked in that direction, she saw the same Newtype Illusion that the enemy pilots were seeing, only seen through the bulkhead to the starboard side. The six wings of the Archangel, spread around the body of Gerald's Mobile Armor.

"That's fucking frightening, that he can do that," Nikko said.

"Yeah, he's on our team, and I'm about ready to shit a brick," Captain Jamestown said candidly.

"You will learn to fear that which you have never understood, for I am the reaper commissioned to never rest until the war Ragnarok is won," Gerald completed the declaracion, using it as pure fear factor against the enemy pilots.

"I surrender! I surrender! Don't hurt me!" Auel blubbered on the open frequency.

"Boss, I have the black machine, she stopped her attack when you did that wingy-freaky thing."

"Earth Alliance Pilots, return to your ship or suffer my judgment," Gerald ordered. "Alicia, Argus, Wendy, enter enemy ship hangar and render compliant."

"As ordered, my liege," Wendy answered with a tone of reverence.

"Earth Alliance warship, you are now the isorla of the _Dominion_. Cooperate, and your term of bond shall be appropriate. Resist, and you will understand the meaning of the word 'wrath', at least briefly," Gerald continued.

"This is the _Girty Lue_. We copy, we will not resist and surrender at this time," the enemy ship's radio officer declared. No doubt they were seeing and hearing the same thing as that of the _Dominion_.

"This one is done," Gerald declared.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

A bit of a different look at some of the events in the past two chapters of Flight JW. Rather refreshing, actually.

Anyone versed in Destiny knows this is where the real fun starts, but just the same, the necessary history has changed so the actual timeline and events change just the same. Of course, this is where I really start to have some fun. I love writing anticipative fiction.

So, today's major thing is Flay's moves toward becoming an anti-BC crusader. The bar fight pretty much sealed it for her, seeing the ethos in action against herself and her boyfriend has pretty much compromised any leniency they may have had with Flay. Of course, this is a good thing, inasfar as she keeps it above the table. This will also be a major point for coming chapters.

The other major point is the rapid heating of the sabotage war between Blue Cosmos and the Ghosts. BC has been a pain in everyone's arse for some time, but Mendel hitting critical infrastructure (a fuel processing plant) is not a move calculated to make the Earth Alliance feel neighborly toward the people in space. In the way these things go, though, the destruction of a biofuels plant will actually drive fuel rates up throughout the world, as demand increases and supply shrinks. Though the major components of the plant were not heavily damaged, without the distro or storage the plant is effectively unusable for at least two years, probably closer to three.

...Oh, yeah, Djibril did make a bit of a loud noise in here as well. Temporarily forgot about that. Yes, you read that correctly, he intends to kidnap Lacus. Of course, that will royally piss off a certain independent warship and get the attention of Mendel. How the operation plays out, though, shall be the critical factor. I will not spoil any surprises here, but I will say that things will not go as smoothly for Djibril as he thinks they shall.

Effectively, nothing much else to discuss here. The next chapter will be a rundown of the capture and escort of the _Girty Lue_, and the bondsmen induction of the crew.

**NEXT UP**: As the _Dominion_ takes charge of its isorla, outside parties decide they want a piece of the action. Planetside, things begin heating up toward the boiling point...

* * *

**Review Replies**: Effectively, four reviews for this chapter, even though one was a bugcheck. As always, a pleasure to catch the flak when needed, and now FFN has a good option for getting old docs out and correcting them, so I may do so.

Takeshi Yamato: Always a pleasure to have the assistance. Next up is MMC, like usual!

Deathzealot: I am cranking the chapters out fast, and have pretty much switched my main evening cool-down to writing and music only.

Shinn was using the ZAKU Phantom because he's qualed for it, but his primary machine (the Impulse) is still being built at this time.

I have the Striker Pack brief, and may use some of them among the various groups in Set 3 and beyond. That's some kickass hardware there, and keep in mind that Mendel has pretty much the whole Gundam universe to use for modular equipment except Turn-A and G.

Flawless Cowboy 2552: It would definitely be a double-take moment if that happened, and you are probably right about the outcome. At least until they got into a fight...

Sieben Nightwing: I will do a bugcheck on that ASAP, probably today as an experiment on the process. Thank you!

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

One bug from earlier chapters reported by _**Sireben Nightwing**_. I will try to correct this. As always, much thanks to _**Necroblade**_ and _**Takeshi Yamato**_ for cleaning my prose!

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **R**egulation, **F**orces, or **O**perational **C**ompliance. Essentially documents issued out to Executors for procedural questions pertaining to their duties.

(2): **A**nti-**s**hipping **C**ruise **M**issiles.

(3): Long ago, someone had printed up joke $3-dollar bills with the picture of President William ("Slick Willy") Clinton as the portrait. This is especially notable because there has never been a 3-dollar note in legal tender in the United States. This created the old joke 'more fake than a 3-dollar bill floating around a cowboy bar on a Friday night' and thus Oruga's corruption of ye olde joke.


	8. Rest Calm

(Dilemma of Flay Allster, Chapter 08: Rest Calm)

(27 January CE 73, 0600 Hours UTC)  
(Medbay 6-Echo, Warship _Mjolnr_, Mendel SDIZ)

"Another bang-up job from our friends in LOGOS," Calamira concluded after checking the female of the three pilots.

"How so?" Century Commander Lightbringer requested. He had his suspicions, but Calamira could get the straight skinny from the minds of the involved parties far easier than he could.

"Well, each of the three has been programmed with a block word, ostensibly to bring them into compliance since they are no longer using the drug cocktail that the first-gen Extended are using. No side effects, no way to control them without conditioning." Calamira paused, considering something for a second, then sighed. "When you used your Archangel illusion on the three, it immediately triggered all their fear centers, all their indecision centers, their panic fight-or-flight reaction, and their block word conditioning all at once. The mental overload caused them to effectively shut down at a psychological level, with terror being the overriding emotion at the forefront of their minds."

"Oh, shit," Gerald groused. "That's not good."

"No shit, Century Commander. I am going to have to dig deep through their psychological state to see if there is anything salvageable. I'm not going to say you panicked them into a vegetative state, because there is still mental activity there, but all that activity is self-consuming terror. Next time you decide to do this, overkill them with fear a little less, follow?"

"Aff, milady," Gerald responded immediately. "What do you need from me to make this happen?"

"For now, peace and quiet," the Strategic Psionic popped her neck in two places to relieve a cramp. "Later, I will need your newtype illusion skills again, but for the purpose of identifying yourself as the Archangel of Solace to the core of their psyche, so they know you're not out to kill them again."

"Very well, I know when I've been ordered to _vamos_, so I be gone. Call me when you're ready for the reintroduction. I won't be far." Without further word, the Century Commander was out the door. Calamira had even ordered the doctor out of the room, though it was a moot point because the only patients in this ward were the Sleepers (so named for their present condition and their reconditioning pods on the _Girty Lue_).

"This is gonna suck ass," Calamira griped to herself while staring at the rear bulkhead of the room. Her expectation was predicated on what she had already seen of their minds so far; even in an unconscious state, the terror was overwhelming, and to a telepath the terror was easily translated.

Her first stop was the calmer of the three, Sting Oakley. Of the pilots, he was the least affected by the illusion, and the least conditioned of the three to show fear or hesitation on activation of the block. Due to this, the cycle of terror was slower and less vehement than the effects against the others.

The process of breaking a mental loop was technically a simple exercise for a Telepath — get inside the loop, inject an incongruent thought or emotion, and listen closely as the loop collapses on itself. The trick to the operation was timing and precision; as most people are mental multitaskers, simply injecting an incorrect or incongruent thought will hardly bother them and likely will not break the loop. The process required that the thought be injected in the place of part of the loop, in the right place and at the right time, for everything to work properly and collapse the loop. Determining the strike location and the timing was the critical part; if the timing was off, or the location was off, a telepath could inadvertently associate the loop (terror) with a thought or emotion that had nothing to do with the original problem and thus create further problems. It was psychology in literal direct application; Sigmund Freud would have shit bricks, had he seen what Calamira Weste routinely saw on a daily basis.

For Sting Oakley, the loop was a bit more complex than she saw in the other two, which made the affair actually simpler. His was four points: The Archangel is fear, the Neue Ziel is the Archangel, The Neue Ziel cannot be defeated, fear that which cannot be defeated. The Strategic Psionic could easily recognize the underlying emotional base of the loop, the inadequacy of being unable to defeat a celestial object (an Archangel), so the incongruent thought in the loop would be confidence in the ability to challenge or defeat the undefeatable.

"Got the plan, now to do something about it," Calamira said mostly to herself.

"No, must...can't get near..." Sting Oakley half-mumbled in his semi-comatose state.

Timing became the deciding factor; she had to 'overwrite' the fear of defeating the undefeatable; being off one place could associate fear with confidence, making him forever afraid to be confident (a very destructive behavior), or could make him think he had a sure shot at defeating a Neue Ziel in his extant machine (the Chaos), which also qualified as a destructive behavior. It wouldn't take most Neue Ziel pilots more than a minute to prove such monomaniacal overconfidence wrong, and Gerald Lightbringer could probably do it in seconds.

Calamira defocused her mind in link to Sting's subconscious, taking all sense of herself out of the equation so she could synchronize her thoughts to his. It was also the most difficult part of the task — for most people, the sense of self was not an off/on thing, and for good reason. For a telepath, it could be done, with the added risk that sometimes the telepath didn't come out of the other person, or the other person grabbed the wrong part of the telepath's thoughts. Calamira had not had any such problems in her past, and in this case the gender gap created a buffer that prevented her picking up anything that she didn't already have.

Once inside Sting's mind completely, synchronizing to the terror loop was easy. She let the loop rotate several times to gauge the timing, then after about the tenth rendition she dropped the incongruent thought at exactly the right time. Once done, the process stopped sharply — no fear, no problem with the Archangel, no problem with the Neue Ziel, no belief that the Neue Ziel is undefeatable. Much as she expected, the loop collapsed and his psyche began drifting almost at random, much as expected of a deep sleep state. _Rest well, Sting, there is no need for fear now_, Calamira told his mind directly.

"Sleep..." he half-mumbled in response.

Calamira took her time extracting her consciousness from Sting's mind, given that she also wanted to verify there was something else there besides raw terror. Once she was satisfied that the problem would appear to be nothing more than a nightmare to an otherwise psychologically-normal person, she slowly extracted from his mind and eventually broke contact.

On her feet, Calamira realized that she was shivering — an expected reaction to being immersed in someone else's sheer terror. The cold sweating was also expected, as well as thirst and nausea. The Strategic Psionic Took several minutes to calm down, rehydrate herself, and prepare for the next cleanup operation.

"You're next, kid," she told the unconscious form of the number two subject — Auel Neider — with the intention of taking a break before she did the third. Calamira knew that due to compatible base psychology (effectively, female-to-female link), the terror loop would be magnified on the third correction. Auel was a simple two-stage loop: the Archangel is fear, fear the Archangel.

"A basic fear loop, but just as bad as any other," Calamira groused after listening to it for a few renditions. This made the solution easier to implement, but more difficult to time given the rapid permutation of the thought.

"Can't — must run — can't stay — hnnnggg," Auel half-shouted, half-moaned when Calamira stimulated his mind.

Once inside his mind and released to free-roam, Calamira could easily sense the timing of the loop and run with it herself. A couple dozen cycles to make sure she had the timing right, then she dropped the skewed thought: respect the Archangel. The completely different direction the thought went caused the loop to halt, but not completely collapse. Calamira created the collapse by way of creating a new 'truth' to replace his belief of the Archangel being Fear incarnate. With a simple adjustment of memory, Auel came to know that the Archangel is Power, not fear, and that he should respect the Archangel. After a few moments toying with the thought, the loop of fear was done. While inside, she also verified that he wasn't completely destroyed by the terror, and then removed herself from his mind.

Again, Calamira found herself sweating and cold-shivering, to the point that her uniform was close to drenched. She expected as much, so she grabbed her first rucksack with a uniform change and headed out the door. "Strategic Officer," an Ensign acknowledged her a few meters down the hall.

"Thank you," Calamira nodded curtly as she continued past and two doors down to the nearby shower room. The shower was a thirty-minute break to clean herself up, sure, but more than that it was thirty minutes to rest up and sort her own internal tremors out — echoes of the fear from Sting and Auel. The hardest part of the 'damage cleanup' routine was always the imagery of the fear of someone else that tended to keep echoing in her own mind, even after correcting the problem in someone else's mind. A shower was good for clearing the mind and cleaning the body, two necessities on such a nasty detail as this.

Once dried and dressed, The Strategic Psionic returned to the med ward with intent to finish the detail. Much as with the others, she sat down in a non-rolling chair next to the subject and put her hands to the temples of the subject, to facilitate an effortless contact with the patient. In this case, it took nearly no effort to go inside Stella's mind.

The last of the Gundam Pilots had a four-phase loop on her subconscious, comprised of Fear the Archangel, The Forbidden serves the Archangel, The Archangel serves Mendel, fear that which is linked to the Archangel. Similar to the loop in Sting's mind, but ultimately more difficult in that she could not easily 'fault' the loop into collapse. "This one will not be easy," Calamira noted after she broke contact with the young pilot.

It took Calamira several minutes of listening to the subconscious side-bands to realize that Stella had more mental power than Sting and Auel combined, probably on par with a Coordinator and a bad case of mental state regression as a psychological defense mechanism. Breaking the regression would take time — there was a lot of abuse behind it to force such a reversion. What she needed most was someone to imprint from, someone that could show her the way into normal society. A Strategic Psionic would be a poor choice for that, but the proper role model would be a problem for later.

The break came to her after hearing one part of the loop louder than the others: the Archangel serves Mendel. Given some digging, Calamira discovered that Stella had been conditioned hard to hate Mendel at a subconscious level, an invidious way to create a tykebomb — a child whose sole purpose was to take (INSERT OBJECT HERE) to hell with it in a blaze of glory. If Calamira changed the thought from 'serves' to 'defends', it would freeze the loop as Auel had done so, allowing Calamira time to correct some of the more blatant misconceptions she had 'learned' about Mendel. Once the genesis of fear was corrected, the loop would finish collapsing and it would be game over for this problem.

"One last run, now that I have the plan," Calamira said soothingly to the semi-conscious Pilot.

Getting inside Stella's mind was the easiest of the three. On the other hand, without the gender barrier to stop her, it was also too easy for Calamira to go almost 1-for-1 deep into her subconscious. Still Calamira trudged on and brought herself to a level where she could see the entire loop in action, necessary for the timing phase. The Strategic Psionic did not allot herself much time to listen to the loop, deliberately, lest she herself be overcome by terror; after a dozen passes, she struck fast and accurate, and froze the loop with the incorrect thought. By changing the thought from 'serves' to 'defends', Calamira elicited a reaction almost down to the maternal instinct level in Stella, which froze all terror in place.

With the stop action accomplished, it was the work of a few seconds for Weste to simply rewrite some of her training and conditioning with proper thoughts on the matter: Mendel doesn't randomly kill kids, the GARM facility isn't a baby blender, Blue Cosmos agents aren't eaten ceremonially, other similar corrections. The sheer level of disgusting and blatant lies the LOGOS pukes were running on the recruits was shocking to the Strategic Psionic, but not unexpected. Propaganda had to be exaggerated to such a degree for it to have any impact.

After a few moments of allowing the corrections to set in, Stella stopped trembling involuntarily in terror, then signed and fell into a deeper form of sleep than her semi-active mind allowed for. It was enough that the Ship's AI could recognize the change just by visual sensors, and updated the facility nurse on their condition changes.

The trip out of the mind of the one lady among the Sleepers was difficult, a product of compatible base psychology, but Calmaria found her way out and back to her own reality with everything intact.

Again with the shaking and the cold sweat, which she expected and received in profusion from this last fix. The basic compatibility between the two only magnified the problem, to the point of nearly-violent trembling on Calamira's part. She prepared for this thoroughly, with a second change of clothes and plenty of scented shampoo for a long shower, which no person would begrudge her on the ship.

It was only part way through undressing the second time that she noticed something was off. After some consideration, she realized that her mind was somehow convinced that her chest was too big to be hers, which immediately led to the consideration that Stella would probably be confused about her own size. "Hope she doesn't try wearing the wrong size bra," Calamira noted before she continued undressing.

-x-x-x-

(29 January CE 73, 2030 Hours Lima (UTC +10))  
(Apartment Building, Melbourne, Australia)

"Cheers!" The elder of the two guys said heartily, saluting the younger with his beer mug.

"Cheers indeed!" the two glasses clinked heartily, and both took a good swig of the fermented beverage.

"So, you said you have some stuff to pass up. What is it?"

"Oh, I have a small car I want to sell, don't really need a vehicle right now. Not like I am going anywhere for now and I'm tired of paying taxes and title on it." It was no secret he could literally walk to the AFB that he worked at as a contractor, and usually did to avoid paying the commonly-atrocious fuel prices.

Though the younger man was speaking of a car, which he fully intended to sell, what went across the table was not a car title. It was a piece of common notebook paper with a data drive folded inside it. The drive itself was encrypted, but the presence of quantum computers in the hands of the EA and Blue Cosmos would make breaking the encryption a fairly simple task.

It would never be said aloud, but the relationship between the two guys was not a young friend / old friend relationship, it was an intel agent / intel officer relationship. The young guy worked as a top-secret rated contractor on the Melbourne AFB, not far from the apartment the two men were sitting in. Their cover legend was two guys that met in the sparring ring at their gym and became fast drinking friends, but in reality even that was engineered. Both were graduates of the Blue Cosmos training camp in Northern Australia, both trained in the intelligence practices and necessary espionage skills. The younger one worked his way into a sensitive position with the Oceania Air Force, and the older one took up driving a delivery truck around town.

"Damn, you should have asked two weeks ago. I just bought a Yugo to rebuild Monday before last. Of course, I know a couple boys down on the dock that are asking around for cars, one of 'em may want to take a swing at your wheels."

"I figured that's what you were looking so chuffed about. Why a Yugo, though? That's an ancient piece of shit on wheels."

"That's the point, m'boy," the intel officer answered pensively. "I'm going to take this ancient piece of shit and rebuild the engine, the interior, the hardware, the whole damn thing except the frame and panels, and make it a badass in disguise."

"You're a fucking loon, old man," the intel agent groused. "While you're dreaming of a rank of badass that can never be, how about another round?" he waved his mug at the senior spy.

"Huh," the elder said. "Damn. We're going to have to duke it out later this week. Keg's almost done."

"You're the one that wanted to kegstand this round," the younger spy bemoaned. "Made a right arse of yourself in so doing."

"It was fun once," the elder spy replied haughtily. "Not doing it again, though."

"Well, when do you think you can hit the ring next? Can't run out of beer for our thrice-a-week bitching sessions." His was an overlarge exaggeration of their common activities, but on a normal day the two did a lot of dissing of the 'space monsters' on an average drinking session. It was no secret they did not like ZAFT or Mendel, and they fell in line with a good 15 percent of the rest of the country.

"Probably Friday or so," the elder spy considered. "Don't have anything going on then."

"Then be there, or forfeit the next keg," the younger guy said in clear challenge.

"Oh, I'll be there."

Both men knew they were most certainly being listened to, but both men considered that by being jovial and never speaking aloud of their duty to the Blue and Pure World, they would not be caught unless something went terribly wrong.

-x-

(3 Hours Later)

In reality, they were being listened to, but not by Oceania. That much of their cover legend still stood, and would likely not be compromised. After all, Orb and Oceania were not really on speaking terms at this time; Orb took a more center-neutral position, Oceania was thoroughly wedded to ZAFT and considered the Orb position of neutrality in the face of clear and present danger to be contemptible. 'Crap and get off the pot' was the frequent complaint about Orb's foreign policy.

Of course, the Orb Intelligence organs were going full-bore towards eradicating Blue Cosmos, even if the nation itself would not make a move. Tapping traffic into or out of Blue Cosmos known routing points was a simple task for those points inside Orb, and in this case not hitting their secondary server farm was paying dividends.

The take from this capture was 110 Gigabytes of encrypted data, not a major problem for Orb's significant Quantum Computer Superfarm on Onogoro Island. The computer had been chewing on it for two hours, not an unheard time span for a 512-bit AES encrypted data stream.

"How's the Open-Source AI Project coming along?" one of the datacenter technicians asked the supervisor.

"Oh, I'm lovin' it. Not a chance in hell I can go for the reward packages, but I'm not in it for the cash. I'm in it to level the playing field. Misty_R_I_S has the edit crown right now, with Athrun_Z and Kira_Y coming in second and third respectively. Against those three, no hope."

"No shit, that's a huge amount of brainpower to fight. At least it's all for our side."

"Whoa, looks like the boxes are done breaking down the intercept," the Supervisor said. "Okay, looks like a fairly standard data volume, one dir and three subdirs. Project 06502, look that up?" he indirectly ordered his subordinate.

"No hits, boss. Something new?" the datacenter tech noted.

"Well, open a new case file on it. I'm going to get in and take a look at the schema folder," he said. Inside were some fairly standard blueprint files, easily read with the right software (Orb had access to all the major CAD packages for just such a purpose). Two clicks and the files opened after a few seconds.

"Oh, holy fuck me sideways, is that what I think it is?" the datacenter tech asked.

"Oh yeah, it's what you think it is," the supervisor noted. "An Oceania aerofighter."

"65 tons, a gauss rifle for a main gun, two of the Skygrasper missile systems, two medium lasers and two AP Gauss Rifle machineguns," the supervisor read off the weapons listing on the schematics.

"She'll carry 13,000 kilos of external stores, four tons of fuel, fifteen and a half tons of armor, sweet Jesus, this thing can tear the hell out of our new Murasame machines."

"Wag that shit, boy," the supervisor said. "This thing is a threat to even Mendel's aerofighters and Mobile Suits. Oceania is now on the scoreboard, and they're playing for blood today. Colonel Kisaka has to know about this and priority, 'cause there won't be much that can stop 'em if they send a squadron or two over to Onogoro to say 'hello'."

-x-x-x-

(1 February CE 73, 1000 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Docking Collar to _Mjolnr_, Mendel SDIZ)

"Just me, sir?" Flay asked with a small hint of shock.

"Aff, just you," Gerald answered evenly. "The two guys are already deployed. Once they realized they were free of Blue Cosmos control, they couldn't enlist fast enough."

"Did they really use mind control?"

"Not exactly," Gerald said, wanting to put that rumor to rest. "They used mental reconditioning and direct brainwave alteration to ensure loyalty. Once Calamira gave the three a tour of the control systems on the _Girty Lue_, and a rundown on what they were doing to them, Sting and Auel practically jumped into her arms wanting a chance to flatten Blue Cosmos and LOGOS."

"And Stella?" Flay asked.

"Stella was obviously disturbed about it, but she is the thoughtful kind, not given to fast decisions on major things," Gerald summed up Calamira's report on the matter. "We go to see her, and if she is in, I am assigning her to your command and your quarters."

"Oh," Flay half-gasped. She was enjoying having the room to herself, and she was keeping it very clean and orderly, but it did have two beds for a reason. It also made perfect sense to bunk a female Gundam Pilot in the high-reaction quarters along with a female Sensor Operator.

"Nothing to it, Flay," Gerald said. A pair of technicians in a lateral corridor snapped to attention when he approached, to which he curtly acknowledged. "Just keep to the usual routine, try to be friendly and accomodating. should be no major problem there. I will warn you, Stella has some challenge points, which is why I want her under your wing."

"Wait, what, sir?" Flay asked in something approaching a screech.

Gerald stopped dead, in the middle of an unoccupied corridor, and leaned back against the wall. "Okay, before you go into this, full disclosure is in order. I am making this an assignment, but you can request out if you feel you can't handle it. Follow?"

"Aff, sir," Flay answered, settling into an at-ease posture by rote, even without realizing it.

"Short explanation, Stella was heavily abused during her training in Blue Cosmos and the Extended Program. Physical, sexual, psychological, the kid went through hell on her way through the gauntlet. Right now, she's borderline regressive personality disorder, mildly anti-social, confused and looking for vengeance on her tormentors. Still follow?"

"Sounds a lot like someone else I know," Flay admitted. "Sans the regressive disorder."

Gerald knew what she was referring to acutely. "You are also a shining case of cleaning yourself up," Gerald admitted. "In your case, it took a relationship and a chance to right your old wrongs to set you on the right road, or am I missing something in my analysis?"

"There's a bit more there, sir, but may I decline to comment further?" Flay asked.

"Aff, declination honored," Gerald said. "I am not sure what it will take to get her on the right path, but it has to start with one young lady showing her the way into our not-quite-normal society, follow?"

Flay giggled shortly. "Isn't that a bit on the not-so-gender-neutral side, sir?"

Gerald chuckled. "Aff, I am supposed to think in gender-neutral terms, but I shall be the first to admit that I have no clue what goes on in the ladies' locker room, and I daresay I don't want to know. Not my place, per se. That said, I think Stella is also in the same boat, going by some parts of Calamira's report on her. That foundation is going to be critical in bring her back from the edge, and since you have been there, I want a veteran on the job."

Flay giggled again. "Trust a woman to be an expert on the affairs of a lady," Flay couldn't help but giggle on the matter. "On the other hand, I think I'd like to see just once a guy on both sides of the gender gap."

"Oh, I think I can name at least one very famous guy in that position."

"I'll call that one," Flay said in challenge.

"The Old Emperor had been reborn more than a few times as a lady, and knows a combination of spells to completely change one's gender overnight. He has been there and done that, or in some cases, she had been there and done that would be appropriate."

"Okay, is there anything you can't do with magic?" Flay asked bluntly.

"If there is a spellcraft way to prove the existence of God, nobody knows it. Anything else is up for negotiation. Now, you want in or out on this detail?"

-x-

Stella considered that things could be far worse for her, all things being equal.

She was alive after challenging the mighty _Dominion_ and specifically the Archangel of Solace, Gerald Lightbringer. Courtesy of the Strategic Psionic, Stella now knew she was free of the necessity of the mental reconditioning and indirect hypnosis being used by her handlers. Most of all, she now had her life and her partially-wiped memories back to herself. She figured the last part would be the deciding factor.

The corrections were a legal necessity of combat action, oddly enough — Gerald Lightbringer had caused her a very bad nightmare, to which the Magi were obligated under their articles of warfare to correct such psychological damage in a prisoner. She had thought she'd be tortured, or ground for intel, or just plain shot for being Blue Cosmos Extended, but more than one person had confirmed she would not be executed unless she did something to warrant it.

The doctor was friendly enough, but a bit standoffish. It had taken Stella about ten hours of watching her to realize the doctor wasn't human, she was an android. It was kinda freaky how lifelike she was, but not entirely impossible in her opinion. Mendel was a land of many mysteries, and the complete lack of action that matched what she had been taught at Lodonia was enough to cement the premise that she had a lot to learn.

The Marine in the room, in full uniform but without armor or major weps, was also a bit standoffish, but not for the same reason. The Marine — Star Commander Raye LeFabre, specifically — was the perfect picture of exactly the thing Blue Cosmos hated: a Trueborn (artificially-gestated) Magi warrior through and through. Stella had to admit that she was drop-dead gorgeous, rock-solid in physical terms, and very intimidating at nearly two meters height.

On the other hand, Star Commander LeFabre was relatable on a very critical level — the BC pilot found out that few of the Trueborn were actually raised from early as warriors, most went in as a civilian after going through school or being raised in the backwaters of rural planets around the Empire. Raye had been one of those few trained from youth, though hers was completely voluntary — she counted off six times she had been offered an out, and still the Star Commander kept with it.

The special part of Raye's story was the tale of the years of training in preparation for her entry placement in the training clusters when she turned twelve. For Stella, that was one of the major times of her life as well, since she had been pulled from the orphanage at twelve and thrown into Lodonia.

That is where things diverged, necessarily; Stella had five years of training mixed with assorted abuses to look forward to, whereas Raye had four years of training from hell and several battles to go through before she could even take position in a unit. Stella considered that the whole 'have to win an uphill battle before you can take a position' thing was a bit above and beyond what the Extendeds went through in their training, tough as it was.

Strategic Officer Calamira was in and out, checking on things with the doctor and talking to Stella for a few. The first time Calamira had identified herself, it was an instant mental schism to the Extended pilot, enough to cause a brief run of panic in the Strategic Psionic. Stella had been conditioned early in her training to intrinsically hate and seek destruction of the Strategic Psionics, but after meeting the lady in person there was nothing to hate about Calamira...and a lot to like, oddly enough. Straightforward and kind, kind of worrying to a degree, and probably wouldn't hesitate to give someone the shirt off her back in a time of need, Calamira wasn't far removed from the old lady that ran the orphanage Stella used to live at...if you ignored the sizable bust and the well-worn pistol in the tactical holster.

The major shock of the day was not the appearance of Gerald Lightbringer, but the much younger lady with him. Stella didn't know anything about the lady, but it was obvious she wasn't much older than Stella...if at all?

Gerald Lightbringer was another one she was supposed to hate, but she was beginning to doubt all the hate and this was another segment of it that wasn't making sense. "As you were, doc." The android doctor stood down to parade rest from having bolted to attention when Gerald entered. "Everything is good on this side?" he asked the doctor after a moment.

"No major problems, I see no reason to hold her here for medical purpose. Anything else is going to take time, and they don't issue me that."

"Aff, sadly not to any of us. Paperwork done yet?" Gerald requested.

"Will be in an hour or so."

"Thanks for seeing this one through," Gerald complimented her, which was a bit of an unexpected reaction to Stella. Why would a Magi officer compliment an android?

"Not the first group, sir. Sad times, that."

"Far too true. I'll take it from here; you can call your relief when you're ready." Gerald turned from the Doc as she turned to the video terminal in the back wall of the room, and before Stella could figure out what or who the Doc was calling, Gerald was seated on the bed immediately adjacent to hers.

"Gerald Lightbringer, right?" Stella asked almost belligerently.

"Well informed you are," Gerald answered calmly. "I'll even bet a few c-bills that information came with an order to kill me on sight."

"It did," Stella admitted candidly, immediately disarmed by his bet. If he was willing to act nonchalant about it, he wasn't going to spook.

"And you have probably been told to hate those who are around you now," he continued.

"How did you know what I'm supposed to hate?" Stella asked, this time in an accusatory fashion. "Was it the Strategic Psionic?"

"No," Gerald admitted. "If you have to go there, I am a rated Newtype Telepath myself; I may not have Calamira's range, but I have all of her tunneling skill in close. Even still, in no fashion have I read your mind for this knowledge;" Gerald semi-lied. He had been told it was there by Calamira, but he knew the root of it from other sources. "You are not the first Blue Cosmos trooper we have captured, but more to the point you are not the first Extended we captured, either."

"Wha — oh, the first-generation, Shani, Oruga, and Clotho," Stella said calmly. Internally, she was anything but calm, with the conflicting emotions of fear, hate, resignation, and a longing for some way out of it all were tearing at her mind.

"Your commanders in LOGOS were not idiots; they did at least brief you on the nominal threats, even their first-generation that have thoroughly turned on Blue Cosmos," Gerald noted. "They wanted you to survive, in the end, but only so they could reuse a weapon."

That much of an admission cracked Stella's resolve to a significant degree, mainly for the blunt truth of it. "Were they...the same? Or just traitors?"

"I do not know what manner of training or abuse they went through; going by some of the scars on Shani's back and sides, it was probably significant. When we captured the _Dominion_, they were being controlled by a chemical cocktail they had to have in regular doses or it would cause extremely painful withdrawal symptoms. They could not flee or withdrawal would kill them. The same applied to yourself, Sting and Auel: without the mental reconditioning every so many days, the withdrawal would have destroyed your mind."

"Damn, it was the same," Stella drew her own conclusions on Gerald's statement.

"I will not tell you what to think on this matter, but I will show you what the Earth Alliance thought on this matter." Gerald passed to her a computerized note-tablet, something she saw a lot of in the area. "This is a direct rip of the inventory and personnel database on the _Girty Lue_. If you want, you can check the source at any time, we are not recommissioning the _Girty Lue_ for the time being."

"Okay, so?" Stella asked.

"Try to find your record in the database," Gerald said.

Stella bent to the tablet and started digging through the entries, first by name, then by rank, then even by gender. She could not find an entry for herself, Sting, or Auel. "We're not in here."

"Oh, you are in there," Gerald said calmly. "If you checked the personnel database, you were looking in the wrong place. Check under the equipment manifest."

"Okay," Stella said warily, not believing him on this one. There was no earthly reason she would be listed in equipment and not personnel. It took a minute of searching by category, but she found it under Mobile Suit — Component Parts — Biological CPUs — Loussier, Stella, SN 40161. To confirm, she checked her Extended dogtags and it did indeed have the number 40161 on it. "But, why?"

"Equipment is expendable," Gerald said bluntly. "To the Earth Alliance, you are a weapon, not a person and certainly not a victim of significant abuses. You know better than any other what you went through. Ask yourself why would someone do that, why would someone consider you equipment and not staff?"

Stella recognized it as a perfectly legitimate question, but in her worldview she had not understood enough to know what would be a proper answer for it. After a minute of thinking about it, she had to conclude she did not know. "I...I don't have an answer, sir. I don't know."

"Power," Gerald answered simply. "I will spare you the moral debate on it, at least for today. These people want power, and they will use you to get that power. They did use their power on you, first pulling you from the orphanage, then abusing you, then in turning you into an expendable control system for a Mobile Suit. Power is what they want, power and control. You were under their control, attacked by their power, and turned against a people they want only control over."

That much was also part of what Flay had been conditioned on in months past. "Isn't that what you want? Power?"

"No," Gerald answered evenly. "Power is pointless to most Magi. I want to go home, nothing more."

Stella simply sat there, staring at her entry on the note-puter and considering the ongoing nightmare her life had become. One fact stood clear above all else, though: the Magi were not what she had been led to believe, in nearly any fashion.

"Was...it all wrong?" She asked after an indeterminate amount of silence and time. "Was...everything I was taught, all wrong?"

"Most, not all, was wrong," Gerald said. "You were taught lies and hatred, and told to destroy."

Unbeknownst to Gerald, that one simple answer broke her hesitation completely. "All this, on a lie? Others — Lodonia! They're all being taught — can it be stopped?"

"I won't ask you to do anything. It is your choice, and your choice alone. You determine what you want to do, and we will discuss options."

Even with the new-found resolve, she still hesitated. "Can I think about it for some time?"

"I expected you would ask. We will be on the _Mjolnr_ for a few days, maintenance on the ship and supplies. I can give you at least that long to decide."

Stella's next was born of the knowledge that she had been lied to, and she wanted to set that much straight, if nothing else. "Sir, I think I may be asking too much, but can I do some research to help understand what I'm missing?"

Gerald nodded twice. "I can see to that." Gerald looked up to the other lady in the room. "Flay, come here, please."

"Sir," the lady responded.

"Stella Loussier, this is Flay Allster, one of the Radar Operators and Flight Controllers from the _Dominion_. You'll be bunking in with her, at least until you decide one way or the other. Flay, the _Mjolnr_ has a small library up toward the bridge and stateroom. On my authority, you have full access to the written materials and authorization to call upon the Ship's AI to access the datacore for research purposes. But, don't shut-in in the library; I suggest you two take a walk around the ship, talk to the crew, see the old artwork. There is a lot of history in the old crate."

"Thank you, sir," Stella said. "Flay, nice to meet you."

-x-x-x-

(4 February CE 73, 0600 Lima (UTC -3))  
(Merchant's District, Manaus, Brazil,)

"All right, take it down, take it down," Retired Mechwarrior Gustav told his truck assistant. Once the truck lift-gate hit the ground, the old Mechwarrior popped the safety latch and rolled the lower display case off the lift gate. Once that was clear, the register counter rolled off the lift gate and the assistant began raising it again for the next set of the mobile merchandise to come down.

Gustav had found his business tripled in the months after the shooting incident in his small store. The lady had been outed by an overzealous press as a specialist in intelligence operations that was trying to crush Blue Cosmos in the USSA. The other major detail of the incident was the AMT Automag V incident — where the intel officer had been shot and downed, the old Mechwarrior stepped up with his personal defense pistol and blew half the BC terr's head off. Nobody knew where it started, but within a week of the incident it was an internet sensation. The retiree had been quite surprised to have a daring teen come in with a full-color printout of the pic to have Gustav sign, and he was the first of many. His leg holster was also subject of a round of local memetic mutation, and a parody of the old 'COPS' theme asking what they (the criminals) are gonna do when he (Gustav or his Automag V) comes for them.

Such would have been thoroughly disgusting to Gustav, except that in shooting down the BC puke that had invaded his store, he had vastly increased his business. News reporters were in his face, to cover the story but also to cover the highly lucrative import / export market for, of all things, clothing. It really had come down to bras being big business in Manaus and across the whole of the USSA. He even had people from as far away as Panama, Jamaica, and El Salvador in to browse his shop, though the latter was dual-purpose business traffic and the wife tagged along to improve her wardrobe.

The first weekend of every month in Manaus was an interesting day for retailers. Merchants would rent a space in the Open-Air Merchant's District for the purpose of conducting a bazaar-style shop-and-swap. Gustav had not missed one such meet since it was announced in the spring of last year (September). The fee was nominal, and Gustav expected to recoup it in less than thirty minutes, given how well his wares always sold.

"Which do you want first? Clothes or shelves?" Carlos asked from the bed of the truck.

"Shelves," the retired Mechwarrior answered. The customer density was still low, and most of them looked to be shopping for non-clothing wares.

"Got four," the assistant was able to roll three of the shelving units onto the lift gate and drop them down to his boss. All three came off the lift easily and were positioned in front of the register counter.

"What's left in there?" Gustav asked, since his assistants had loaded the truck.

"Oh, two small cases, a couple small items racks, and four racks of your favorite clothing." The latter was code for ladies' lingerie, which though not Gustav's personal favorite, it always sold fast.

"Bring 'em down and head back to get the second set of racks. Today is shaping up to be busy as hell. And make sure your girlfriend is awake at the register, I don't want to have to boot her."

-x-

There was something to be said about being a survivor of a Blue Cosmos incident, and directly involved in a very famous shootout.

Sophie had found that her life changed significantly since that day of running through alleyways to avoid capture or death. Seven months had passed, and her fame necessarily annihilated her promising career as an intelligence officer. No sense trying to operate undercover when she had been briefly very famous for her involvement in the shootout.

The other side of the coin was no less shiny than the first, of course. She personally capped off two BC officers in the line of duty, evaded capture without any formal training in E&E, and even managed to take refuge in a place where she could be defended that was far less than obvious. Such instincts were readily recognized by the brass as rare and valuable, so she was not immediately canned for having her cover blown in a spectacular fashion. More to the point, an official set of 'attaboy' papers from no less than the President, Ed Harrelson, and two Generals for dropping BC operators in the line of duty ensured her career was effectively bulletproof, even if her field days were done.

The question that quickly came up in her department was simple: what do you do with a spy that cannot spy because she has no cover legend any more? After a week of paid non-disciplinary leave, she was called back and reassigned to the Direct Operations Department. A month of advanced training later, she was assigned to the Direct Operations 1 Cell, a team of fifteen hardasses who went out and kicked doors down in tactical gear to break up spy rings and such. It only took her three operations and one very dirty interrogation to cement her reputation as 'The Lady Devil' among the regrowing narcoterror groups and Blue Cosmos.

Her unique service record also lent itself to liaison with a certain import / export outfit in Manaus. When she wasn't busting skulls with the USSA Direct Ops Div, she worked out the particulars of trade contracts that were going through the newly-established Manaus Spaceport and/or a certain Bensinger Sundries Shop. Today was going to be one of those days, but not for the usual reason.

She started early, taking her passes at the opening stalls to see what kind of bargains she could hunt down. Federal employee or not, she had the same problems finding decent clothes as anyone else in the USSA, and particularly for lingerie the hot stop was Bensinger Sundries. His small cargo truck was distinctive, especially the logo with the mostly-green (jungle and swamp) planet Bensinger inside a classic call-out text logo. Since she had to talk to him, she wanted to stop there last. At the least, the ladies hitting the clothes and lingerie were not her size, so she might have something left to pick through in thirty minutes.

"Can I interest you in some finery, good lady?" a particularly sleazy salesman said, waving to his display cases of mostly-fake and partially-stolen jewelry. She had bought items from him before, then had them appraised, and returned them the same day when she found out they were 'costume jewelry', mostly fake materials and metals designed to look real at first glance. He had initially refused a refund, but she had let slip her position in Direct Ops and surreptitiously showed her badge when he resisted; a few seconds hesitation and she had her money back. "Oh, you. Come to harass me some more?"

"Only if you're selling the same fake goods you always do," Sophie answered his grumbling with what approached a catcall. "What's the latest word on the street, Faisel?"

"I'm not much interested in talking to you after the last time," he said stoutly.

"I think I should call for some more uniformed presence in the area," she said offhand. "Looks like today's going to be busy." Of course, she wasn't referring to the bazaar at all, she was referring to them doing a full inspection on his permits, merchandise and clientele.

"Man, you really do love living up to your reputation," Faisel said. "Okay, I heard from a couple of rats that one of the stalls on the northern border will have some 'aromatic grass' moving through, but only between 10 and 12. They won't sell before or after."

"Thanks, Faisel, thank you very much. I'll have a word with the permit staff, have them swing by this area late."

"Better than your usual," he groused. "Your old friend is in," and he nodded to the retired Mechwarrior.

"Hrm, think I need to swing by. I could always use some new clothes," Sophie moved on without a further word, but was not headed toward the Bensinger stand.

By 0700, the market area was becoming very crowded with merchants, but not yet packed with shoppers. The early birds were out and about, but the place would not become really lively until right around 1000 — when the supposed drug trade was to begin.

One thing that Sophie had always wondered about was the growing fascination with Hookahs in the USSA, above and beyond the whole 'party bong' concept that they were most certainly being put to. Certainly, the ones for sale here in the market were legal and usually sold with flavored incense and flavored smoke materials, not marijuana. Sophie liked vanilla incense and potpourri, but not in a directly-inhaled fashion. Still, a large and ornate Hookah left the shop of the importer in the hands of four college-age guys and they were being followed by some six or seven girls, which told Sophie the interest appeared to be in the under-25 (College) crowd. That made some measure of sense; if it smacked of rebellion, someone at a college somewhere would try it.

The other fascination in the marketplace was an altogether surprising one. Normally, spent shell casings from large-caliber weapons (particularly anything with a bore diameter measured in millimeters or larger) would be collected, recycled, and remanufactured into new rounds. However, a clever distributor had thought to take a series of 75mm casings from the CIWS guns used in most Earth Alliance (and USSA and Equatorial and Scandinavia and even some Mendel units), cleaned them, plugged the primer flash-hole, and compressed the wall of the case into a bowl. After a thorough washing, it was perfectly sanitary for food use, though they were also military collectibles for kids of ages 8 to 98. Sophie had heard that an older couple bought two each week to add to their home dishes collection, and another old lady used them to put on the wall with small collections of pictures in the basin of the bowl. Word is some of them were also exported to Mendel as a novelty, and they were soaked up as fast as they hit the shelves in the 'rebellious' colony state.

In due time, she found herself wandering toward the Bensinger stands, and the clothing that was so much in demand. Finding her size on the proper racks was simple enough, since she was in the 'common sizes' band that tended to show up a lot in mass-production clothing. Not too small, not too large, not too tall or short, and her weight was a little bit high but most of that was due to being in better physical shape than average.

After she secured a couple sets of undergarments and two good shirts, she decided a little bit of a ploy was in order to break some ice with the patron of the shop. She picked up two models from one of the mobile shelving units and took them to the counter. "So, mister 'mechwarrior, which one of these would win in a fight?" She asked after bracing the two models on the register counter.

"Sophie! It has been long, young one," the retiree noted.

"I see you're still kicking around with your 'peacekeeper' and a couple mags," the DirectOps trooper noted wryly. "How's things going?"

"Business is booming as usual," he noted. "I see you also have a ration of clothes. Personal day?"

"Not really," Sophie noted. "Listen, I have a problem, and I have need of your unique position for it."

"Oh? Upon what?" Gustav asked immediately, wondering why an intelligence organization would need an old Mendel 'mechwarrior for anything.

"If I understand Magi law correctly, marijuana is not illegal, right?"

"Ah," Gustav said, seeing immediately to the heart of what she intended.

-x-

Finding the right tent that was selling the material in question was no difficulty for the retired Omnimech pilot. The scent was reasonably obvious to anyone who had routinely been around it in years past, and most every planet had at least a club that specialized in the 'aromatic grass'. Some planets were Puritan enough to have challenged for the right to completely ban it, and some even won, but at an Empiric level it was specifically allowed, as was alcohol. Harder drugs were controlled and mostly banned, due to their chaotic and extremely damaging effects on people. After all, a person was less likely to kill themselves with 9-THC poisoning than they were to kill themselves with alcohol poisoning, and nearly nobody was making noise about a Prohibition-style movement.

"Something I can help you with, big guy?" the doorman for the tent asked.

"Aff," Gustav answered. "Oh, how say? I am looking for a taste of my old home, planet Glengarry, in the old Lyran Alliance territories of the Empire. Big on agriculture, and home to a very mild-sweet blend of the old 'aromatic grass'. Was looking for lunch and I thought I smelled some in this area. You wouldn't happen to know where I can get some?"

"Sorry, don't do business with anyone that's friends with 'The Lady Devil'. Even if you are a crazy sunzabitch Mechwarrior from Mendel."

"Who? Oh, Sophie? Bah. I have roughly half the cops in Manaus in and out of my store for clothes and uniform materials, that does not make me friends with any of their foul tribe."

This caused the doorman to look at him funny. "Why should I believe that?"

"Because Magi traditionally do not like 'civilian' or paramilitary police forces. Too much authority, too much assholiness, not enough accountability or honor in their ranks."

"Okay, you push a hard bargain, but I think I can deal. I'll deliver a package here in an hour. Have fifty c-bills ready for me at that time, and no tricks," the doorman said quietly.

"Well bargained and done," Gustav said in the traditional fashion. He moved onward from the tent, and stopped three stalls down to pick up his lunch of corned beef and cabbage from a food importer.

The microphone in his magazine pouches for his pistol, however, heard every word of the conversation. They knew not to act until Gustav gave them a signal that the deal was legit, lest they blow the sting. Gustav, as it happened, was not interested in smoking it but just to smell it. He was not lying about his home planet in any particular, however.

-x-x-x-

(9 February CE 73, 0330 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Patrol Route 4-Delta, Mendel SDIZ)

"It's all 99 percent boredom, and 1 percent sheer terror," Oruga admitted to the younger pilot he was 'mentoring', such as things went around here.

The addition of Sting, Stella, and Auel to the crew of the _Dominion_ meant three new Gundams, but their posting as crew was 'brevet' at this point — they had not passed a Trial of Position and thus were officially unrated as warriors. In this case, however, the more unusual factor was the consideration that none of the three were listed as Bondsmen — they were already considered Abtakha in the records, warriors inducted into the ranks after being vanquished in battle.

At the end of the day, though, Oruga figured it was all for the same reasons as why Shani, Clotho and himself were drawn in so quickly. Clotho still remembered the Lodonia facility quite well, as he had trained in there; Shani and Oruga were out of Mountain Home, in the Atlantic Federation territory of Idaho. It was telling that Century Commander Lightbringer already had plans on the table to hit those two facilities during the initial stages of any ground action that may come when the Earth Alliance got their shit in gear and started the second party.

"Eh, can't say it was much different when I was under the Earth Alliance, but nowhere near that calm when I was in the Extended program," Sting noted.

"Huh," Oruga growled. He did not remember much of what happened during his stint in the Extended, but what he did remember he did not like.

"Which facility were you out of?" Sting asked after a minute of silence.

"Mountain Home, Idaho, along with Shani. Clotho was Lodonia, in Suez. You?"

"I was Chihuahua, Mexico," Sting said. "Auel and Stella were Lodonia. Not the best of days," Sting noted.

"A hard truth," Oruga sympathized. "Want to take the facility?" the senior pilot asked after a while.

"What, attack one of the Extended facilities?" Sting asked. "We'd have to hit them all, to stop the program. Free the subjects, and kill the personnel."

"Not necessarily kill them, unless it is required," Oruga noted. "Gerald already has plans on the table for Mountain Home and Lodonia. We add Chihuahua, and that gives us a good chance at recon-by-fire of finding any other facilities. Find 'em all, capture 'em all."

"Think it will be that simple?" Sting said.

"What are you worried about?" Oruga asked over the top edge of his manga.

"The subjects — they might put them on the front line as a last-ditch defense," Sting considered.

"They can, but it would be useless," Gerald noted. "A bunch of elite-trained kids with assault rifles are not going to stop a Star of Marines — not for long, at least," the older pilot allowed for some possibility of luck on the Extended's part, but not much. A Marine was supremely equipped and trained to take on armor forces; kids with rifles, kids with pistols, kids with knives, extremely unlikely to even annoy a Marine for any notable length of time.

"True," Sting allowed. He had seen some briefing videos and intel captured from ZAFT on the matter of the Marines, as well as having seen reports from the Marines by way of in-close 'tourist' intel gathering. The Marines looked every bit the part of the assbeaters they were supposed to be, and their near-flawless record in direct engagements (so far) only cemented that reputation.

"And, another thing to consider, with you three going to take a Trial of Possession early next month, we'll be up to 10 Gundams on board. That's a shitload of firepower to bring on one facility, and we're one ship of two in the class so far," Oruga noted. "Add in a couple Stars of Marines, suborbital hops from facility to facility, we could do the entire Extended network in a matter of a day or two. Since the bases didn't talk, it is possible they wouldn't know what hit 'em."

"Nice," Sting said.

-x-

Flay stopped just outside the doorway to the pilot's ready room, after hearing the second voice. Sting Oakley, she knew, from having met him a couple days prior.

"When do we begin?" Sting asked after a few moments of silence.

"As soon as the Earth Alliance starts the party, we're going to go in as part of the initial assault force, something of a 'problem-solver' team between our guys and ZAFT's guys. They'll have their own team, the _Minerva_ if they ever get it out of hock, but they'll need more. Once we're released to independent ops, we start beating ass and taking facilities."

"Outstanding," Sting noted.

Flay kept herself still and silent, listening to the conversation in the pilot's room. She knew that both of them could hear her if she made any extraneous noise, which would probably cause some bad news in this here hallway...

"Okay, this has been bugging me for some time, what are you reading?" Sting asked.

"Old, old manga series. _Negima_, if you need the title."

"Harem manga?" Sting asked in an unusual tone.

"Little hard to say that," Oruga noted. "The teacher is a 10-year-old prodigy teaching at an all-girls school. It looks and acts like a harem, but it really isn't."

"Okay," Sting said.

"Seriously, I am not a porn reader," Oruga said directly and somewhat sharply.

"What? I didn't say that," Sting said.

"I could hear your dirty thoughts over here. Seriously, I am not a porn reader. My mind is warped enough without adding that kind of crap into it.."

"Girlfriend?" Sting asked. "Oh, whoa, sorry."

"Kinda pushy for a greenhorn," Oruga grumped; Flay could only guess that Oruga had given him a death-stare of some kind.. "Still, no such thing as a long-lived secret, especially on a ship this small. I do have a girlfriend. She's the Mobile Suit Operator you will be training in under. Keep it clean, or I will be waxing your ass on her orders."

"Whoa, shit," Sting said in surprise.

Flay decided now would be a good time to depart the area.

-x-x-x-

(11 February CE 73, 1935 Hours UTC)  
(North Atlantic Ocean, Open Waters south of Greenland, 205 meters below the surface)

"Conn, Sonar, new track possible sub contact, sounds like it's coming from the area of Heaven's Base."

The Captain reached up from his desk to the growler box and pressed the button for the Sonar room. "Sensors, Aye, lay in a track and get me some idea on where it is or what it is. Is the ZAFT carrier sub in the area still?"

"Conn, Sonar, negative track on the ZAFT can. She ran south a couple hours ago, haven't heard her since."

"One of the Earth Alliance fast-attack monstrosities?" the Captain asked, wondering what it could be if it wasn't ZAFT.

"Negative, this thing is too quiet to be one of those submerged turds. It's definitely a sub, but it's something else."

"Very well. Track it, type it, bring me your analysis in an hour."

"Conn, Sonar, aye." the growler box dinged once to signal the Sonar guys had let off the radio console. With that much done, the Captain checked his watch and decided a quick round around the sub was in order.

Scandinavia may have been new to the whole 'Space Naval Warfare' scene, and their presence in it only at the behest of Mendel and Orb, but they were effectively the deadliest men and women under the seas. Scandinavia boasted the best of the best in submarine forces, and did so without any manner of interdependence on Mobile Suits or surface assets, two things the Earth Alliance and ZAFT could not claim. The Silent Service lived on in the Viking tradition among the Scandinavians, and this time around the Earth Alliance would not like the Kingdom's answer to their ultimatum of 'join or die'. If the shit hit the fan, every Sub officer had orders to go out and deep-six every stinking piece of Earth Alliance naval hardware larger than a rowboat.

Captain Maxwell Luties, Royal Scandinavian Silent Service, fully intended to do that much regardless. If the Earth Alliance so much as farted wrong, he wanted their asses on the bottom. Of course, he wouldn't shoot unless given the green light, but he intended to do it thoroughly and directly when ordered. The crew of the sub _Longboat_ was fully with him, given the present state of affairs in Scandinavia and around the world. Mendel may have been assholes, and doubly so for ZAFT, but at least they weren't omnicidal unlike the Earth Alliance.

His crew stopped and braced to attention as he passed, so long as they were not in the process of doing something critical. They were professionals, most of them in for ten years minimum and the bulk of his crew already at five years or more on the job. If he had to take them into battle, he was very confident in his men and the machine they crewed.

The entire Scandinavian Navy was expecting the shit to hit the fan some time later this year, it was obvious that the Earth Alliance was jockeying for position and wanted the scrap badly. It was also expected that the Earth Alliance would lose to an unholy degree in space, which was unsurprising. Mendel had effective ownership of space, even over ZAFT, and they tended to break things when they got pissed off.

All that remained was to see how things went inside the atmosphere, and how it went on the seas.

-x-

(1 Hour Later)

"Captain, you're not going to believe this," the lead Sonar Technician, a man nicknamed 'Kenny' for his love of the old American cartoon South Park, said by way of greeting at the Captain's desk.

"Okay, 'Kenny', surprise me."

"It's not a new sub. Sig is nothing like Earth Alliance or ZAFT recent kickouts."

The captain frowned mightily. "Okay, if it's not a newer vintage, how far back are we talking?"

"Early subs boss, or more specifically, Cold War-era subs. _Typhoon_-class."

"Wait, what?" Captain Luties asked in shock, recognizing the name readily from his military academy history courses. "An old Soviet boomer sub? Are you serious?"

"Yes, sir, I ran the pattern against some old records we had of their sig. Propeller noise is off, probably have better screws on it than the Sovs tended to mount to it, but the plant signature is the exact same thing as an old _Typhoon_."

"Oh, shit," Maxwell groused. "The Soviets never modded theirs into SSGN subs, like the Americans did with most of their _Ohio_-class ships. If it still has the missiles, or more likely has newer and better missiles, that's a fuckwad of throw weight." The Captain was referring to the combined total damage output of the missiles and warheads on a machine, commonly referred to as 'Throw Weight' in the nuclear arms industry.

"What about Neutron Jammers, sir?" Kenny asked.

"No way in hell," the Captain answered. "If you're hearing the same plant noise, they already have an N-Jammer-Canceller on the ship. This is the Earth Alliance we are speaking of, and they're omnicidal assholes, so we have to assume they have Cancelers on all their warheads." He reached up to the Growler box and hit the button for the Conn. "XO, Max, please report to my stateroom at first possible."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." The wait for the XO to drop in was short, since the walking distance from the periscope to the Captain's room was roughly six meters. "What's up, Captain?"

"Kenny here just found us an old _Typhoon_-class boomer roaming around in the area of Heavens Base. Damn thing is live and we have no real reason to assume that it isn't armed. What are your thoughts?"

"My first thought is to turn it into an artificial coral reef the hard way," by which he meant torpedo several big holes in it and make sure it stays down on the ocean floor long enough to grow coral, a decades-long process in most cases. "My second thought is SubCom needs to know about this in a bigass hurry."

"Roughly the same things I was thinking," Maxwell answered. "Kenny, if we pop up to periscope depth to shoot off a message, then drop back down fast, can you reacquire the track?"

Kenny snorted derisively. "It's a _Typhoon_, a noisy bastard. The Soviets were not all that effective at making them quiet. Get me within 2000 meters and I can track the damn thing with a shotglass to the hull. For damn sure I can regain it so long as he hasn't gone silent."

-x-

XXX — BEGIN MESSAGE — XXX  
SUBMARINE SATELLITE INFORMATION EXCHANGE TRAFFIC  
LASER TRANSMISSION BIDIRECTIONAL / CONFIRMED GOOD COPY

FLASH TRAFFIC PRIORITY  
FOR: CHIEF NAVAL OFFICER, SCANDINAVIAN ROYAL NAVY  
FROM: SS-1231 / SUBMARINE LONGBOAT  
LOC: NORTHLANT PATROL

SUBMARINE LONGBOAT HAS DETECTED AND IDENTIFIED EARTH ALLIANCE SUBMARINE NOT OF STANDARD ATTACK SUB CLASSIFICATION OR RECENT VINTAGE. THIS SUB IS OPERATING CLOSE TO HEAVENS BASE AND APPEARS TO HAVE AN ACTIVE GUARD OF 2 OR MORE FORBIDDEN BLUE MOBILE SUITS. UNABLE TO APPROACH FOR HULL SHOTS TO CONFIRM SONAR READINGS.

SONAR DETECTION CLASSIFICATION COMPLETE MATCH TO OLD SOVIET-ERA TYPHOON-CLASS BOATS. SUB ACQUIRED AND TRACKED STEADY FOR NO LESS THAN 1 HOUR AT TIME OF TRANSIT. AS THE REACTOR NOISE IS CONFIRMED MATCHED TO OLD SOVIET NUCLEAR REACTORS, IT IS POSSIBLE THAT THE MISSILES ARE ON BOARD AND THE WARHEADS HAVE N-JAMMER-CANCELLERS.

LONGBOAT REQUESTS ORDERS ASAP. WILL COMMUNICATE SSIX FOR RETRIEVAL NEXT 0600Z. AT THIS TIME, RESUMING DIRECT TRACK TYPHOON-CLASS SHIP UNLESS ORDERED OTHERWISE.

CAPTAIN MAXWELL LUTIES SENDS REGARDS.

XXX — END MESSAGE 2050Z — XXX

-x-

(25 minutes later)  
(GARM R&D Facility, Supercomputer Basement, Secure Intelligence Analysis Section)

One of the things less affected by the N-Jammer was the microwave. In terms of high-density data transfers, Microwaves were also a very handy thing to use. Unfortunately, microwaves also had a bad habit of scattering off the dishes that were used to receive them. Since the heady days of the Information Age, the major players in the espionage games had special satellites up with the capability of catching that scatter.

Mendel was no different. In addition to their own laser communication satellite systems, they also had receiver satellites around the world to catch microwaves and any other radio tidbits that survived the N-Jammer. The take was thin, but so far it was doing something.

In this case, the message came through clean, as it had been relayed to several places in unaltered format, and enough of those relays survived the transit to be received clean. The AI Supercomputer did not have to chew on it long to see the contents of the message, either.

"Wake it and shake it, Star Captain," the AI prompted the duty officer in the Intel Analysis tank.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," he groused. "What's new?"

"Hot traffic from the Scandinavians. You're going to like this." The Star Captain leaned toward the monitor; if the AI said he was going to like something, it was generally bad news on at least two levels.

"Okay, hit me," the Commando Star Captain said. The monitor popped up with the message; it only took him thirty seconds to read it. "Okay, what's so hot about these _Typhoon_s? Never heard the name."

"On monitor 2." A silhouette of the _Typhoon_ sub popped up, and on Monitor 3 a series of Orthographic pics showed up for reference purpose. "The _Typhoon_ is an old Soviet nuclear missile submarine. Six were built, four remained in service with the Russian military after the Berlin Wall dropped, and supposedly they were STN'd in the 2020s, but apparently at least one of the hulls remained intact enough to bring back from the grave. At least, that is the history of the _Typhoon_ in the common history of Terra; it is possible the Soviet Union of this timeline built more, or kept them on after modernization. She carried 20 SS-N-20 Sturgeon intercontinental missiles, each with 10 warheads, for a total throw weight of 40 megatons per sub assuming full-power warheads."

"Okay, then, Charlie, that is a pretty big fucking deal," the Star Captain said. "So, the EA has a nuclear squeak toy. Can they launch those missiles directly at the colonies?"

"In the original configuration, no," the AI answered. "If the Earth Alliance is smart about their boomer or boomers, they will have improved the missiles to allow transatmospheric targeting, and so long as they are shooting at a large target they may actually hit it."

"Okay, I think the boss needs to know about this."

-x-x-x-

(13 February CE 73, 0800 Hours UTC)  
(Crew Lounge Area, Warship _Dominion_, Mendel SDIZ)

"Am I killing time, or is time killing me? That is the real question, because Shakespeare missed the boat with his old wheeze about 'to be or not to be' or some shit like that."

"Eh, time is killing me," Clotho replied to the Century Commander's offhand comment.

"Kill time? Nah no way," Auel said. "If I find the wench, though, I'd slap the hell out of her for making time fly so freaking much."

"And time keeps on slipping, into the future," Clotho quoted an older song that Shani liked listening to from time to time.

"Look to the past; in the here and now, the future isn't what it used to be," Gerald said after a sip of his fruit juice.

"Bah. The future is a fantasy to make people feel better about getting screwed here and now," Clotho replied staunchly.

"You want to consider Ragnarök a 'fantasy future'. sure, go ahead, I won't spare you that illusion," Auel replied sharply.

"Ragnarök?" Gerald chuckled briefly. "Some people fear the reaper at the end. I dream of the beginning."

"It begins when you have love on your mind," Clotho noted with a wry smile.

Auel frowned, but said nothing immediately. He could see the play here, but he wasn't going to be thrown that easily. "We will find each other in the dark, my long lost love," Auel borrowed a line from one of the more popular Nightwish themes among the Magi.

"Okay, I gotta call that one. Where from?" Clotho asked.

"Nightwish," Gerald and Auel answered at the same time. "_Beauty Of The Beast_, third stanza, lines three and four," Gerald continued after a second.

"Okay, that is freaky, that you can quote verse and line from that song," Auel said with appropriate awe.

"Sauce," Gerald noted after a sip of juice. "I've been listening to Nightwish for my entire life. Not hard when you know all their songs beat-perfect."

"Points to the Century Commander," Clotho saluted the CC with his glass.

"Your turn, then, sir," Auel yielded the field.

"Okay, I think I'll go in the same direction, then. Don't give me love, don't give me faith, wisdom nor pride, give me innocence instead," Gerald quoted a different Nightwish song.

"I give a Requiem for the Innocent, though no innocence would be around to listen to it," Clotho picked up on the theme from the last.

"Uh, can I get a requiem for my dreams?" Auel asked.

"My dreams will come alive; be afraid, kids, be very afraid," Gerald continued the loop.

"No shit am I afraid, it's the fear of the dark inside of me," Clotho said warily.

"The darkness eats my soul," Auel said offhand.

"Okay, I call that one. Source?" Gerald asked.

"Erm, I pulled it out of my arse, sir," Auel said with a perfectly straight face.

"Busted," Clotho said heartily.

"Tab's yours, Auel," Gerald said, passing him the bill.

"Bollocks," Auel griped, quoting one of the greenhorn mechanics for the Gundams. "How many rounds did we make it?"

"Twenty," Clotho counted off his tally sheet.

"Getting better," Gerald said.

"What's the best you've gone, sir?"

"133 rounds, against two Executors and the Division Commander of the Magi," Gerald said. "I really don't recommend challenging those whackos. It was one of the Executors that flubbed it, but they had some down-in-the-weeds arcane shit on the table before it was all done."

"Not much interested in matching wits with someone that can depopulate a planet themselves, period," Clotho said sincerely.

"Okay, that's one thing that has been bugging me since I first heard of the Magi. If wizards are supposed to be everywhere, why no wizards on this ship?" Auel asked sincerely.

"You got screwed a lot by the bureaucracy above the Extended program, right?" Gerald asked plaintively.

"Screwed? Pffft, more like bent over the barrel and butt-fucked until I sang the Earth Alliance national anthem in a falsetto."

"Sounds about right," Clotho said, having graduated from the same facility as Auel he could confirm that story fairly accurately.

"Now, apply the same thing to the Magi's fleets and independent warship groups, and suddenly you have a picture-perfect description of what was happening to the _Mjolnr_."

"You're saying the Magi bureaucracy screwed the _Mjolnr_ out of any Mages on board?" Auel asked, shocked.

"Politics, amigo, politics can fuck any duck, for fun or profit," Gerald confirmed. "The Mighty _Mjol_' has not had a Strategic Mage in several centuries, and prior to that it was hit-and-miss whether we would have one. Last time this ship was routinely staffed by a proper Support Mage contingent was the century after the end of the Star Empire Wars."

"Damn, I so wanted to see that in action," Auel noted. "And I was told repeatedly that you did have wizards."

"I bloody well wish," Gerald groused. "If we did, we'd've already re-established contact to home."

"Dick 'n' Doughnuts, and the Magi don't ever seem to get an ample supply of doughnuts," Auel groused.

"Which leaves us getting the difference in dick," Clotho completed the thought. "Welcome to the service, Auel. Now here's your door prize, grab your ankles and smile, 'cause big daddy LOGOS brought the party favors," he continued in a very facetious tone of voice.

"So, when do we get our next re-up of doughnuts?" Auel asked.

"Just after the start of the next war," Gerald said. "The Earth Alliance doesn't have a way to play it in their favor, and they're spoiling for the fight. They want our asses to the point they can almost taste our butt-cheeks." Gerald grinned ear-to-ear when he saw the grimaces on the two pilots. "I know what you think I was going to say, and that is freaking grody. Low scuzz porn, guys, low scuzz," he advised.

"Yes, sir," both of them answered meekly, playing off the joke like good trainee pilots. In all reality, Gerald considered these two to be the best of the six Extended, but they were still too young and impulsive to be proper aces.

"Okay, we can beat their asses raw, but can we hold territory?"

"Not much," Gerald answered calmly. "The Earth Alliance is a big nation, and we have a comparatively small amount of force. Granted, our lethality is magnified because of our veteran forces and technological edge, but numbers rule the game when holding territory — and numbers we do not have." He would not admit that he was on the way to forming up a Cluster of Battle Armor troops, but in reality another paltry 375 BA troops would not make a huge difference in the grand scheme of things. The population of Mendel was still no more than 4.45 Million, and the third colony was under commission, but that was still a far cry from the estimated 2.3 billion persons in Earth Alliance territory.

Gerald reminded himself that games of numbers like this usually ended badly for the smaller side, though such games were usually not played with Mendel's long list of force multipliers. It would definitely be a contest, and all three of the pilots at this table would have front-row seats to it.

"If we get to scrap the Extended program, I'll consider that a victory," Auel said.

"We all will," Gerald admitted. "And we will need every victory we can have, even the small ones."

-x-x-x-

(14 February CE 73, 0830 Hours UTC)  
(ZAFT PLANT November 5, Factory 2-B-23)

"And this is legal?" The manager asked the department director.

"Read it," the Director handed him a single sheet. On it was two lines, which the area manager read aloud.

" 'A finding is in order, that regulations preventing the conduct of business with known terrorist elements and backers are considered null in such cases where business actions may be construed to materially deprive an opposition party of resources that would otherwise be turned against the Empire.' " The manager looked up to the Director with a smile on her face. "Okay, this is why Mendel can do this?"

"Yes," the Director said with a smile of his own. "It still has to be done through back-channels, thus the ZAFT — Morgenroete — PMC backdoor route, but in this case everyone profits. PMC brings in materials and equipment. Morgenroete brings in munitions from PMC, and in with those shipments are the equipment shipments. We bring the equipment in and break it down for remanufacture. The rebuilt goods go to Mendel, Mendel uses those assemblies in their power armor systems."

"Nice," the Manager said. "Dick and doughnuts; everyone gets the doughnuts, except the Earth Alliance who gets all the dick."

"And I am not going to lose sleep over it," the Director nodded. A couple of the mechanics had gone to Mendel to study industrial processes, and someone, somewhere, picked up the 'dick and doughnuts' analogy somewhere in the colony. They brought it back to ZAFT territory, where it began spreading as an apt euphemism for common situations going sour.

"Okay, then, I thought this would cause shit-fits somewhere in there, but it looks like everyone is running rosy. Can PMC increase their intake and export of assemblies?"

"Can we increase our reprocessing?" The director asked in counter.

"I can bring in a third shift and increase by up to 50 percent, but I'm not really running up on the red-line for manpower yet. If I push some hot buttons, I think we can do 75 percent more at the minimum, maybe double up on what we're doing."

"Double up? I'll need to talk to Mendel about that, see if they want double," the Director noted. "For now, we'll plan on increasing 20 percent. I know Handel wants that much right now."

"Twenty percent? I can do that right now with minimum overtime expenditures. I have a crew in mind that would love to slog some extra hours and contribute to the assbeating of Earth Alliance forces." More than half of his crew were old veterans of actions against the Earth Alliance in the prior war, discharged for medical or discharged honorably for their services, and a goodly portion of them were in this to make the EA bleed. It wasn't the healthiest motivation for a job, but it contributed and Mendel was very pleased with their work.

The other major faction in the crew of this factory was a bit of a mind-bender. They saw Mendel as rivals and believed they needed to beat Mendel, but to do that they had to start by taking the Earth Alliance out of the equation completely. No simple task, that, given the EA represented roughly sixty percent of the aggregate population of the Earth Sphere and more than half its land mass. On the other hand, Mendel was considered the one party likely to break the Earth Alliance if the shooting ever started up again.

"And Orb? I heard they were doing their own Battle Armor project?" The Manager asked after a few moments of pause to do some mental numbers on who and where he would need the extra manpower.

"They may be making noise about it, but if they're really doing it they are not asking us or Mendel for help. They may be doing it all in-house."

"Islander Hardheads," the Manager groused.

"Huh?" The Director asked. He was fourth-generation ZAFT and had no attachment to any geopolitical nation.

"I was Orb when I was young. Parents left the country just before the standoff of '63, when the PLANTs started getting real crotchety about the Sponsor Nations and their nasty-ass demands. Orb would not raise a finger against Blue Cosmos, and my parents wanted to be out of the country when BC started hitting Coordinators in Orb. Sure enough, '66 and '67, a couple of my old school friends turned up with their throats cut."

"Bad news, but good you got out of there alive," the Director said wholeheartedly. "I have a meeting in five minutes I need to go to. Anything else?"

"No, I'll plan on forming up some teams for expansion."

"Thank you," the Director said, which was effectively a dismissal. The Manager was out the door and through the office sections within a minute, back out onto the factory floor where he considered that he belonged.

A squad of cargo exoskeleton moved the shipping crates of parts from the load dock area to the assembly areas. Medium-skill personnel de-crated the equipment, while high-skill specialists (often former Mobile Suit or naval personnel) assembled the units. The assemblies received from Morgenroete were the guts of rocket engines, effectively — but not simple missile or rocket engines, despite the similarities. These were the fuel pumps, tanks, and engines of a Jump Pack, a necessary component of many Battle Armor designs. Each were produced in various factories in Mongolia, only barely a step above the old axiom of Chinese production, but PMC had invested a fortune in Quality Control to weed out the defects early. Morgenroete did their own QC inspections and testing and anything falling below the Magi's characteristically high demands would be turned around into their own projects.

The parts were assembled with precision and pressure-tested on the bench to the nominal 5000 newtons of force internal to the components, and 5 metric tons of force capacity in the fuel / oxidizer tanks. The combustion engine itself was rated far higher, but that was a design necessity and the only effective way to test that was by firing the engine off — a Battle Armor trooper would be the final test for that.

Once the pressure tests were confirmed good, the assembly moved over to another technician. This second tech attached the rocket nozzles to the assembly and partially fueled the system for a static burn test. The high volume of Jump Packs was indicative of how large Mendel was thinking for their Battle Armor programs, but also to have spares on hand. The entire Jump Pack was replaced as a unit in field repairs, to cut down on unit downtime; the damaged jump pack would be sent back to ZAFT for repair or replacement as needed. Given how many were being manufactured, estimates were on the order of 3 packs available per Battle Armor.

"Sir," one of the technicians acknowledged him as he walked past.

"Grizzly, just the person I wanted to see," the Manager noted. 'Grizzly' was so known because of his huge beard, not because of any manner of foul attitude. "We're thinking about ramping up volume. Can you put together a crew of some of the hardasses to service that demand?"

"Overtime?" Grizzly asked.

"By the book," the Manager confirmed.

"I think I can find a few good men," Grizzly considered.

"Thanks. Keep it up, Mendel will need these things for the fun to come."

"What about us, sir?" the next tech down the line asked.

"We'll get in on it, the higher ups are working on a design of their own." His comment drew smiles from everyone in earshot, which reminded him exactly how much the Earth Alliance was disliked in this factory.

-x-x-x-

(17 February CE 73, 0630 hours)  
(Warship _Dominion_, Docked at Mendel)

"Battle stations! Battle stations! All hands report to your posts!"

Flay barely roused at the first call, but was wide awake to the sound of the klaxon on the second repeat. "Oh shit!"

"Don't panic," Stella half-shouted before she threw Flay a pair of pants. Due to the effect of gravity (or lack thereof), the pants did not arc down, they ended up flying into Flay's face. "Just an alert. The world isn't likely to end any time soon."

"I dunno, BC wants to nuke us." Flay had paused briefly to pull her pants on and cinch in the belt. "It may not be the world, but it certainly will end our world."

"Here," Stella threw a BDU shirt to Flay, which also piled up against her face. "Do you normally sleep this heavy?"

"Yes, actually," Flay admitted. "Bad old habit." She did not have a huge problem getting her arms in the shirt, but when she tried buttoning it was clear the shirt did not belong to her. "Damn."

"Throw an undershirt on and try to look unimportant; you won't draw fire."

"You say so," Flay grabbed one from her underwear drawer quickly and followed Stella toward the bridge access. Three flights of stairs gave her plenty of time to get the shirt on and ready, though the day's lesson was to have a set of clothes ready for draw at all times.

Surprisingly, despite the delay she was not the last person on the bridge. "Allster and Loussier reporting for duty, sir!" Stella noted as she entered the bridge.

"On your panel, Flay. Stella, guest seat to port."

"Aff, sir!" Stella responded to the orders from the Captain. "What's going on?"

"Junius Seven is moving," the helmsman groused. "Century Commander Lightbringer has ordered this ship and the _Thrones_ into action."

"Wait...what?" Flay asked before anyone else could.

"Nice shirt, Flay," Commander Gray noted. It was only after the CIC commander said anything that Flay realized she was not wearing a plain-jane shirt, she was wearing a tee that had a peace sign made out of shotgun shells, with the text 'peace through superior firepower'.

Captain Jamestown looked down and back to the CIC / dispatch section behind the Captain's chair. "Damn fine shirt, Flay. Where can I get one?"

"I, erm, had them made by a vendor in South America when we were in port. I'll see if I can get some more made up and shipped," Flay said, typing herself a note up for it on the ship's console access to her personal records. Such a request was not an order and could not be construed as an order legally, but it would not enhance her career potential to ignore it.

"_Dominion_, this is Lightbringer. Secure ship for ingress nuclear arms," Gerald ordered.

Captain Jamestown picked up the growler phone. "Attention all personnel, this is Captain Jamestown. We will be taking on nuclear arms in the next several minutes. All Marines are to muster in full arms and armor, with no less than 2 points deployed to the Hangar at all times. All sections acknowledge."

As the security-necessary section chimed in, Flay began working on her sensor console, but not for the purpose of looking around the ship (Nikko was already doing that). Hers was channel-surfing on the radio-transmit television and radio stations throughout Mendel, seeing if anyone knew that the shit and the fan were busy conflicting at this time.

"Anything, Flay?" Commander Grey asked.

"Nothing, no civilian mention of Junius Seven, anywhere," she responded.

"What about us?" Auel asked as he hovered over the sensors stations. "Are we going to be in on this?"

"That is up to Gerald, not us," Commander Grey noted.

"All right, everyone, listen up, Sit-rep time." Flay could tell the message was going out on the ship's intercoms, growlers, and tactical radios. "Someone is moving Junius Seven deliberately into a collision course with Earth. Our likely estimate of damage from such a strike is fifty percent planet population minimum within a year, with continental kills in the initial impact. Nuclear Winter is expected on planet for at least two generations after the strike, which renders Terra effectively uninhabitable. This is a planet-killer strike, people, therefore Magi are honor-bound to act."

"We can't let them all die," Stella said. Flay could tell the break in her voice, and wondered why there was such a note on the word 'die' that was beyond normal speech patterns.

"We shall not let them all die. We have options, and one of them just finished loading up," Jamestown noted. "Our plan is to turn part of our antimatter arsenal on the colony remnant, and effectively annihilate a goodly portion of the colony's mass while breaking up the rest. Done right, we can render the small leftover bits effectively harmless."

"Nice, very nice," Auel noted.

"Auel, Stella, Sting, you three will be operating long-range cameras here on the bridge. We do not need more Mobile Suits on the ground, especially with antimatter weapons in play. What we do need is more eyes available to check the remnant debris for threatening chunks. As much as it sounds like a pussy job, it will be critical," Jamestown passed down the orders from Gerald.

"Okay, that's bull, sir."

"You will get your chance to kick ass, Trainee Neider. You three will definitely get your chance, but for today you learn something about the importance and power of a warship. Sting, secondary comms panel, convert it to a camera terminal from the controls menu."

"Aff, Captain," Sting replied as he jump-drifted up to the secondary station that was usually not staffed.

"Stella, starboard-side guest seat, pull up the control panel and set to camera control."

"On it, sir!" Stella moved over to the guest chair that was below, to the side and slightly behind the Captain's chair.

"And that puts me on the left side," Auel preempted the Captain.

"That's port side, you young ground-pounder," Jamestown admonished him. "As soon as the harbor control gives us a clear, we are moving out. We will remain at condition one until the operation is concluded. Understand this, people: this operation is listed priority one, which means all considerations you think you may have are out the airlock. We do our jobs whatever the cost, or innocence is lost."

-x-

"This is where things get interesting," Flay noted. Already the Mobile Suits were launching to take the fight onto the colony, and there were no major enemy threats in the vicinity, so she was effectively operating with nothing to do.

"I've never seen an antimatter explosion before," Nikko noted. "I'm looking forward to this."

"Okay, that's the Wing Zero machine? That thing's pretty hard, but predictable," Auel noted. He had watched the Wing Zero fire into a structure and eradicate it, including the basement and two Mobile Suits below it.

"Assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups, pilot," Gerald Lightbringer told the pilot of the Wing Zero.

"That is some sound advice, Auel, especially when trying to gauge a machine you don't have flight time in."

"Really," Auel responded to the Captain's remark.

"Weapons, begin your Lohengrin pattern," Captain Jamestown ordered.

"Firing Lohengrin one," the weapons officer said. The projected antimatter beam was right on the mark and cut a ten-meter-wide hole into the colony in seconds. Some loosed debris came back out of the hole, but for the most part the material inside had been converted to a blast front in front of the positron beam. "Fire one successful, two minutes to recharge. Helm, position for shot two, please."

"Position for shot two, aye," the helmsman said, given that the weps officer technically outranked him and the Captain had said this was his operation.

"_Thrones_ is on the scoreboard," Melody noted as the sister ship to Dominion tore its first hole into the surface of the colony.

"In position for next shot," the helmsman noted.

"Preparing cannon two." Flay could hear the beeping of his console. "Firing cannon two."

"We're about to use more explosive force on this one colony than has ever been used in the history of warfare on this planet," Captain Jamestown noted. "Gods help us all if something goes wrong."

"I have faith," Sting noted.

"Really? For someone who's been in the touman for less than a month?" Jamestown asked.

"Oh yeah, the Magi are experts at blowing stuff up."

"Fair enough," Jamestown sighed. It was a truth he was not particularly fond of, but in this case it was his job.

"Firing shot three now," the weapons officer noted. Everyone watched as the coherent positrons chopped into the colony, and once again the beam did not completely penetrate the colony.

"Why are we not blowing all the way through? We have more than enough firepower for it," Auel asked.

"We want the blast contained inside the actual continent, Auel," Commander Grey answered before anyone else said it. "Something to do with the blast physics of antimatter. The NEST team knows what it is doing."

The methodical nature of the drilling operation lent itself to silence and observation, an interesting task as the Mobile Suit forces mopped up a few stragglers on the surface. The resistance was nothing spectacular, just the dying gasp of an enemy team already savaged by the Diamond Element mobile armors. After the fifth hole was punched, the Dominion began shifting to the center area to drill the last four points as the NEST team dropped their bombs in the exterior holes.

"Conn, sensors, activity on the colony — wait, Bane is down!" Flay half-shouted.

"What is — oh shit," Jamestown said. "Weapons, Gottfrieds!"

"Conn, Sensors, Cobalt is down! We've lost two of the NEST Gundams!"

"Too late, sir, the escorts have already hammered them," the Weps officer noted.

Flay zoomed in on the action pertaining to Gerald, where he deployed remote weapons to chop up the enemy machine stupid enough to try challenging him. It was a weird one to see the machine fly head-first into an apartment building, especially in the vacuum of space.

After a moment, she realized she had turned off the radio feed to her headphones. "— is no such thing as a fair fight, there is only a fight you win and a fight you lose. I am not paid to lose, amigo. Tough rocks. As to your fate, I shall do nothing more to you. You can self-destruct your machine, or wait for an antimatter annihilation. I care not which," Gerald told the enemy pilot.

"No such thing as a fair fight, only a fight you win and a fight you lose," Auel repeated. "I think I like that phrase."

"Oh, no, they're getting ideas," Nikko noted sarcastically.

-x-

In truth, the best monitors on the ship in terms of screen clarity were the Sensor Operator monitors, and Stella knew it. Of course, this also created a bit of a spacing conflict between the Sensor Operators and the Gaia pilot-soon-to-be.

"The only thing this is missing is some popcorn," Melody noted.

"Erm, Stella, I know you want to see this on the best monitor in the house, but I really don't need your chest against the side of my head," Flay noted evenly. "Can't you get in behind me and watch over my shoulder?"

"I could, if Tiara doesn't object to having my arse against the back of her head," Stella noted.

"These really aren't good confines to have extra personnel," Commander Grey noted. "On the other hand, this is definitely going to be something to see. We are rolling tape, Captain," she preempted the inevitable question.

"Excellent, footage will be needed for records and the inevitable media firestorm."

"And accountability to the Division Commander," Commander Grey noted.

The timer showed 33 seconds at the time of detonation, which immediately confused everyone on the bridge. "Did we time it wrong?" Tiara asked after a moment.

"No, somebody must have messed with one of the devices," Carlie Grey answered the question from her subordinate. "They have fail-safes to detonate the whole chain if tampered with."

"It was...pretty," Stella commented. "Sadly pretty."

"Silver-blue actinic fire," Captain Jamestown described it. "Gods of Existence, show mercy on the condemned souls we have annihilated on this day, and that they may find peace in rest that their graves are now dust in the wind."

Flay stared at the monitor in front of her, seeing not just an antimatter blast, but the fate that could have been herself should she have taken an opportunity to return to Earth and stay there, instead of remaining in Mendel and cleaning up her act. The war would inevitably go nuclear, or, more appropriately, shall go nuclear in one fashion or another. Blue Cosmos was too stupid to keep it conventional, even after this almighty display of destructive potential. 4.5 Gigatons of explosive force, to reduce a single colony continent to small debris and dust.

The greatest obscenity of that figure was the ease with which Mendel whooped out their nuclear arms, even for such a mundane purpose as this. There were other ways, of course, but this was the sure kill. Flay figured Gerald was in it to prove to BC that he had the bigger dick for this pissing contest, and what he just dropped had made a loud sound when it hit the floor.

"Frightening," Flay concluded. "So much power. Thankfully, this absolute power has not absolutely corrupted us."

"No, and we must always be cautious about using absolute power," Jamestown agreed. "Absolute power has corrupted many before us absolutely. It never ends well."

Flay considered that a powerful lesson for the day. She was heading for having that kind of power, from the level of Oruga's heart to an entire business empire, she had power. So far, she could only hope she was not absolutely corrupted.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

So much action, so little time.

The first major point is you see the Sleepers in conditioning, often in with the older and wiser Druggies. The purpose of not throwing them straight in is to condition them to a more normal life away from the pods, once the psychological need for the sleep reconditioning was broken. Between the section where Calamira broke their terror loop and when Stella was assigned to Flay, there was more actions by Calamira to help clear some issues up.

On the study Flay and Stella did, that will be featured in the next chapter of JW2, as something of a break between the other action I have planned.

The other major point of the day is the Earth Alliance Boomer subs — nuclear missile subs — that the Scandinavians found. You read the throw weight right, kids — 40 megatons per sub, and as I demonstrated in an earlier chapter of JW2, the Earth Alliance has several subs. You can rest assured they will show up in the storyline proper at an indeterminate point in the future. They exist as a nuclear ace for the EA — an ace they are all too willing to use when it is their arse approaching the grinder.

On minor points, the big one is The South America action with the Direct Ops Division of the Ministry of Intelligence and Operations. You can expect to see a bit more of them in possibly a side story or two, maybe some more action in the mainline or here in DFA. After all, there is a lot of BC to evict from the gene pool...

**NEW REF**: Revamp 1, Due to what was probably a very daunting wall of text in the opening section, probably nobody wanted to read it. Not much blaming anyone on that, rereading those sections myself made it hard on even me, and I wrote the buggers. This should correct that issue and some others as well.

* * *

**NEXT UP**: Flay continues to get used to being so close to Stella, while Stella, Sting and Auel learn how to be one with the Magi hardasses that freed them from effective mind control.

**Review Replies**: 5 Reviews for the chapter! I like that kind of feedback!

_Takeshi Yamato_: Always a pleasure, and keep in mind Djibril definitely is of the mindset to go after small targets if he feels like it.

_FraserMage_: That Jet Strike Dagger may show up, depending on how quickly some rebels acquire the salvage. Also might show up as a field-expedient mod for USSA forces...

_Sieben Nightwing_: Thanks for the bugcheck, amigo! A lot of people liked the duel scene.

You're seeing parts of the Oplan here, what Gerald intends to do to all the Extended facilities. Of course, DFA will focus quite a bit on that part of the action, since it will be a primary op of the Dominion.

_Fire Miner_: As I explained in PM, the Argama-class and Ra Cailum-class are known to the Magi, but are preferred machines of another Star Empire (Specifically, the Dark Moon Star Empire).

**Review / Reply First Post Chapter 8**:

_Akalon_: I have seen Mechwarrior Online, but not going to join it until I have a computer worthy of it (some time early next year). Stand by for further on that note!

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! Damn good pleasure to be getting such feedback from the readers of this tale! Keep 'em coming, as shall I!

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

No complaints from the last chapter. As always, much thanks to **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for the assistance! Someone has to keep my logic straight, which Sieben had to do multiple times here in the last section of this chapter.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): In times of war, the Magi operate under a different set of rules pertaining to the use of telepathy on abtakha / isorla personnel from the enemy, due to the necessities of intelligence gathering. Also, this incident falls under the purpose of a Telepath to correct psychological damage as caused by actions of war (In this case, Gerald's illusion).


	9. Energetic Destruction

(Dilemma of Flay Allster, Chapter 9: Energetic Destruction)

(15 March CE 73, 2030 Hours UTC)  
(Warship _Mjolnr_, Crew Library facility)

"Okay, this is what I want to see," Flay said. "Systems designs that were pooh-poohed for various reasons by the Magi."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that those designs may have been buried for a reason?" Oruga asked a little sharply.

"The Thunderball was buried. It is poised to become Mendel's new premier fighter class. I think there may be other shining gems in the piles and piles of...okay, that does suck," Flay admitted, looking at a holographic model of one such buried design.

"I would hate to have to try driving something like that," Oruga noted. The design was on a Battlemech frame, but the unit was so grossly misshapen and the right side of its body was almost twice the size of the other. How it maintained balance, nobody could guess.

"Historical flops," Flay considered. "Computer, re-filter results by criteria of designs not prototyped or limited deployed." Her simple constraint reduced the pool of rejections by 85 percent, given that anything that failed in the prototype stage would not likely make it to the the battlefield in any usable form.

"What's Stella doing?" Oruga asked while the computer pared down the design listing to match Flay's new criteria.

"She's reading parts of the old history." Flay looked past the holographic listing of units to the Gundam Pilot in question. "Stella, what are you reading about?"

"Old stuff, back during the Star Empire Wars. The birth of the combined-force planetary invasion methods, specifically," Stella answered without taking her eyes from the pages she was reading.

"You mean how it was done?" Flay asked for clarification.

"Not 'how', but 'who' did it. The methods we use today are way better than before, much smoother," the Gundam Pilot said nonchalantly. "Did you know that the original version of the unified plan was penned by the same guy who is presently the Division Commander Techstrikers?"

"Wait, what?" Flay gaped. "That can't be right. The Star Empire Wars ended over an eon ago — for someone...to…"

"Here," Stella slugged a document to Flay's holovid projector. "Pay attention to the author's name and rank, and the date."

"Okay, Gerard Caecilius, Star Colonel, 7 March of Mage Year 2059." Flay gasped sharply. "Gerard Caecilius — he is the DCT! He's older than dirt! And he doesn't look to shabby at being older than dirt, either. Creepier still," Flay admitted, looking at a projection of the Division Commander.

"How do you get to be over 14,000 years old? And not go insane?" Oruga asked nobody in particular.

"Actually, Pilot Sabnak, more than one Psychologist has declared anyone who wants to live more than 200 years to be insane for attempting functional immortality, though it is widely believed that the persons who do go for Transcendance are insane at several levels, but functionally insane," JADE, the Artificial Intelligence entity of the _Mjolnr_ (and now of Mendel) answered his question. The picture in Flay's holotank switched over to a figure quite a bit more recognizable. "For example, the monomaniacal drive by Queen Serenity to find a solution to Ragnarok that results in humans winning has resulted in her being permanently barred from purchasing weapons in the Illyaris and Dark Moon Empires, and would prevent her buying arms on this planet in Orb or Scandinavia."

"Okay, if that's functionally insane, I am not objecting," Oruga answered quickly.

"An Executor is the exception; the rule-of-thumb is persons who survive past 250 years are more than 65 percent likely to suffer a debilitating form of insanity, with chronic megalomania and narcissism being high on the lists. After all, an average unmodified lifespan is usually no more than 100 years; living twice and more past that tends to distort one's view on power, mortality, and purpose."

"Well, I don't want to go there," Stella noted pensively. "I think if I make it to forty I'll be doing good. This world doesn't exactly favor people who just want to be left alone."

"Speaking of people that just want to be left alone," Flay began. "Are there any scenarios similar to ours in the past of the Magi?"

Allster's request took twenty seconds to process. "In totality, the fate of the _Mjolnr_ is unique in the history books, but several scenarios come close on one or more linchpin points." The smart table underneath their books lit up with several listings — a column for nuclear-armed terrorists, a column for marooned interstellar ships, a separate listing of race wars, and a column for multiple geopolitical states on one planet. "This is the list of incidents that closely match each aspect that creates trouble for Mendel."

"Wait, ships get marooned this frequently?" Flay asked, looking over the column of such incidents.

"The use of a jump engine is subject to some random factors that are not always understood," the AI unit answered (1). "Though, one thing that has puzzled statistical analysts on this issue is the heavy weighting of such incidents to civilian jumpships, not military jumpships or warships." On that column, only three entries were highlighted, and all had names appropriate to a warship. "In roughly forty percent of such cases, the misjump is fatal to the crew."

"All this...by pure chance...everything had to go right for us to be where we are," Stella said with some manner of trepidation about the thought.

After a few moments, the table cleared. "What has been that is similar, this is not the discussion you need to have," JADE said after Flay tried tapping on where one of the entries was. "What shall help you understand the most is a discussion on fate, not history."

"Why that? It's not like anyone can accurately know—" Oruga stopped himself dead in mid-sentence. After a moment, he looked up from the now blanked table. "I know that answer. Don't bother."

"You are focusing on the wrong aspect of fate," JADE consoled him by not stating what he already knew: there were beings in Known Existence that could read the future just as easily as a schoolchild could read a history book. "I intend the part of how you write your own history, and how those histories interact."

"Do we really have free will? Or is everything written?" Stella asked bluntly, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

"The answer to both your questions is yes," the AI answered. "Just because everything is written does not lessen your personal mental freedom, or your physical freedoms — you can still act as you please, even if someone somewhere will know what actions you are to take."

"That makes no sense," Flay rebuked the AI. "How can freedom be freedom if it is already ordained?"

"Because you are not acting on what you are seeing in the future, you are acting of your own volition in the present. Or, put another way, all the world's predictive or analytical temporal skills does not change the fact that you are still acting on your own volitions. The inverse would apply were you able to understand the future — your actions would still be free, technically, even if you do know what shall happen. Even knowing what shall happen, you have the right to act on it, or allow it, or you can not act on it."

"Like a race track. The cars go around the track, they go only in one anticipated direction, but the results of the race can change, the positions and results can change, and how the race is won is up to the driver." Oruga picked up his manga and put a bookmark in it.

"Even if it is written, I intend to live my life how I want to live it. Who knows? Maybe I would have died at Second of Jachin Due instead of being transferred to the _Helderton_ and then exchanged as a prisoner," Flay admitted.

"I'm with you," Stella answered."I just wish I could meet someone who does have the ability to see the future — maybe they could tell me what it would have been like."

It would be the question that haunted their daydreams, trying to come up with similarly nasty ideas on what their lives would have been like without encountering the Magi. For all their inventiveness, they would find out exactly how much they undershot the potential reality.

-x-x-x-

(17 March CE 73, 2030 Hours)  
(Panama / Colombia Border, Earth Alliance Territory)

"The bullshit is strong with this one," one of the engineers said of the project commander.

"Yeah dude, but keep it down man. If he hears you, you're likely to be executed," another of the engineers groused.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the first engineer replied.

"How many more of these 'Dragon's Teeth' are we going to put in?" The second Engineer complained. "I mean, these aren't going to stop a Mobile Suit."

"We're not worried about the Mobile Suits, we have artillery and anti-tank guns for those," Commander Forrest answered. "Our primary problem is going to be the USSA armor forces — specifically, the Southern Cross MBT. If we can delay them for even six hours, we can probably stop them butt-cold here at the border."

_Keep dreaming, Commander_, the Engineers thought in unison but did not say. "I hope we are adding landmines and concertina wire to this, or a couple battalions of USSA engineers will just overrun the Teeth and use satchel charges to reduce them to gravel."

"I have them on order as of last week," the Commander answered immediately. "More to the point, I have read the history books. The German Siegfried line failed because it was unmanned. Nobody to stop the United States combat engineers from blowing their way in. We will not be making that same mistake."

_Damn good, we can stand around with our thumbs implanted while the USSA saturates this area with cruise missiles_, the elder of the two engineers thought but did not say. "I think we're ready here. Bring in the next truck!" He waved the next concrete mixer truck in to begin pouring. The individual Dragon's Teeth were not really individual objects, per se, as it was really a 'tooth' attached to a large slab of concrete at the bottom, with rebar reinforcement throughout to help prevent easy destruction.

When Nazi Germany set up the Siegfried Line in counter to the French Maginot Line, artillery was still a 'lucky to hit the right country' form of fire support, close air support did not have 1000-kilo bombs, and Germany figured her Panzergrenadier Divisions were perfect for keeping pesky engineers away from the concrete revetments and thus deny an enemy force easy access to central Germany. In reality, by the time Patton's army reached the Siegfried Line, the only force in the area was his own — there were no defenders to take advantage of the static defenses, which made them only a nuisance to the United States General and his army.

The Earth Alliance plan was roughly the same as the German Army's plan of those long-past days. The difference in operations plan was the prevalence of infantry bunkers and dug-in fighting positions for the inferior but common Linear Tank, allowing a defending force the ability to withstand some manner of ground attack while laying down defensive fire on anything that tried to cross the obstacles. Of course, the Engineers knew this whole plan had two major problems: one, the enemy was not likely to get close enough during the beginning phases of a campaign to be shot at by the defenders, and two, anything that could be seen could be hit, and anything that can be hit can easily be killed.

The concrete truck backed into the proper position and dropped its feed chute into place to begin offloading the several cubic meters of material into the concrete forms. Also, unlike the German design, the Earth Alliance had opted to leave the concrete forms on top of the 'teeth' as something of a steel cap over top the concrete. Not that it would likely do much more than annoy the engineers initially when they came to punch a hole in the line, but the EA was blowing resources on this project and the EA construction crew figured they might as well blow resources to an extra degree.

"Excellent work men, continue as you were," the Commander finally said, likely bored of watching them fill concrete molds.

When the Commander was clearly out of earshot: "This is such a freaking waste of time," one of the concrete truck operators complained. "Do they have fairies and unicorns lined up to keep any USSA engineers away from these barriers?"

"If they do, they haven't told us about 'em," the senior Engineer answered.

"And I wish they'd tell us about 'em. I could think of a few uses for some fairy dust right now, because whoever came up with this asinine plan is on at least LSD or better, and I want to join in," the younger Engineer said in jest.

"The more of these things I pour, the more I think I've seen these somewhere," the truck operator said. "You guys know?"

"Yeah, Nazi Germany, the Siegfried Line, World War Two," the elder engineer answered the outstanding question.

_That_ name the Operator knew. "That's not the best role models to be following. How did the line do?"

"Pfft, didn't do shit. The Americans rucked up to the line without any harassment, laid down demo, and watched as the original set of Dragon's Teeth achieved low orbit. I expect we'll see the same thing when the USSA gets their panties in a bunch here in a couple months."

"Then why the hell are we doing this?" the Truck Operator asked.

"Because someone is making money off it somewhere," the elder Engineer answered.

"And because they wanted to get us out of barracks and make it look like we were doing something useful, rather than just sitting around reading _Playboy_ all day," the younger Engineer answered.

"Damn, too bad you guys won't get out before the hammer falls," the Truck Operator answered. "I could use some extra hands."

"Don't tell anyone, but if the shit hits the fan real hard, we may bail out," the senior Engineer answered quietly.

"That the case, I'll put you up," the driver said in a similarly hushed manner. "Who knows? Maybe the USSA will abide an EA deserter."

"Works for me, amigo," the younger Engineer said with cheer. "Next truck!"

The Engineers had no idea they were being watched from the far side of the border by USSA Special Operations personnel. Shotgun Microphones even allowed them to hear the conversations, such as they were.

-x-x-x-

(17 March CE 73, 2230 Hours Lima (UTC-5))  
(Earth Alliance Territory, North America, Old United States, Northern Indiana)

"Somehow, the phrase 'get serious' is still not coming to mind," Ghost Officer Thomas complained.

"I am thinking otherwise," Hawk Longfeather answered. "Even toward the most foul of foes, the Magi would not commit infrastructure sabotage during peacetime. Orders like this, we are suffering from 'peace in name only'."

"I say this is overdue," Star Commander Megan Garibaldi settled the matter.

"Why this bridge?" Amina asked. "It's a railroad bridge. Hitting this will not disrupt much."

"This is part of the Atlantic Federation's military rail network. We drop this bridge, there is no direct path from Albany to Chicago, or from Albany to Minot. They would have to loop as far south as St. Louis to compensate, which would add days to a transit by rail."

"Oh, screw over their reinforcements from the old United States Northeast," Thomas said with clear malice to voice. "I rather like that thought."

"Well, time to get to it, this bridge is not supposed to stand all day," Megan ordered.

Contrary to the movies, destroying a structure is not simply a case of throwing a large quantity of explosives at it and then standing back to watch the fireworks. Bridges more than most defied that logic to an even greater degree: having been engineered for decades or centuries of rough treatment, they had to be demolished in a very systematic manner to have any expectation of success, especially for a four-man team and limited amounts of blasting agent on hand.

The flip-side of the equation was a bit simpler for the Ghosts. Blue Cosmos, in their infinite wisdom, had begun foisting off large amounts of arms and explosives to various private and public groups to prepare the 'masses' to 'rise up' against 'the space-monsters' when 'they lay siege to the world'. Megan was reasonably sure of three things pertaining to Blue Cosmos' plan:  
-One, when Blue Cosmos did something ample to piss off Mendel enough to invade, the average citizen would be scared enough to get the hell out of the way of the invasion force, not try to stop it (at least, those who did not have a god complex or general self-destructive mental processes).  
-Two, whoever had come up with this plan had to have an IQ score somewhere in the vicinity of room temperature (as measured on the Celsius scale), because of:  
-Three, by placing arms, ammo, rockets, and explosives in relatively unsecured storage containers in businesses and government facilities throughout the country, Blue Cosmos was essentially providing any resistance forces and Ghosts in Atlantic Federation territory with ready-made caches of supplies to use against them.

Getting into several of the arms lockers took only the use of a heat blade to cut through the locks on the cases and the Ghosts had instant access to more firepower than they could reasonably carry. No doubt the various resistance groups were doing the same in other parts of the country, Megan surmised. Nothing like a damn fool enemy that leaves demo and guns within easy reach of their opposition.

The first phase of the demo was simple: use antitank rockets against the concrete bridge pilings to punch holes in them. Such paltry weapons would not take down the bridge of their own accord, but the initial damage from the shape charge would be essential to the demolition charges finishing the job.

"Train in eight minutes, Commander. Deploy?" Hawk asked.

"Wait one minute, then deploy," Megan ordered. Each of the Ghosts was assigned to one concrete abutment for the bridge, and each had six rockets to use on each abutment.

After sixty seconds elapsed, the Ghosts began firing their rockets off in a specific pattern. Each of the four targeted abutments had two reinforced concrete pillars, and each pillar would receive three rockets followed by a pair of satchel charges. The rockets were a gimme; the four troopers only needed to stand off under the center of the rail bridge to make their shots, and hope none of the shoddy Earth Alliance antitank weapons had a faulty fuse.

Sixty seconds after the fire command, the structure was weakened amply to continue the process. "Place your first charges, people," Megan gave the command as she stepped off toward her first pillar. The satchel charge was nothing special, five kilos of C6 blasting agent and a dial-a-timer unit, which each trooper had set to exactly thirty seconds. When Megan arrived at the soon-to-be-rubbled reinforcement, she placed the charge against the left of her three rocket holes and used a good swatch of duct tape to make sure it stayed in place. She moved to the right-most rocket hole on the same abutment and taped on her other charge. "One, set," she reported.

"Two, in place," Amina acknowledged.

"Three, ready," Thomas reported.

"Four, good," Hawk announced.

"Pull, now, now, now." On the third, all four troops ripped the fuse cords and backed off to the center area.

"It's the waiting that kills," Amina groused.

"Ain't it the truth," Thomas agreed.

"Listen, I hear a train's horn," Hawk noted after a moment of silence.

"Oh shit, if we can hear it — " Megan was interrupted by the near-simultaneous explosions of the satchel charges. "Do your second round, quickly!"

The four Ghosts moved out fast to their second pillars and made fast work of placing the satchel charges. When they reported ready, Megan again initiated a synchronized rip-cord timing to make sure the blasts were timed together. Again, the four Ghosts congregated at the center of the bridge, but they did not hang around under it this time.

"Come on, baby, come on," Thomas willed the satchel charges.

"It will work, look at what the charges did to the first pylons," Amina consoled him.

"Three seconds," Megan reported. The last eight charges detonated on time, with enough blast pressure to core out the concrete and mostly shred the rebar at the base of the pylons. After this last crucial set of blasts, the ends of the bridge bed collapsed a meter on weakened structural supports, not enough to sever the bridge but enough to destroy it when the next train rolled over it.

"Oh baby, the Earth Alliance Express is about to derail into fail territory permanently," Amina said with a clear smile to voice.

"The train will smash the center pylon when its weight finishes collapsing the rail bed," Hawk noted.

"Guys, we have company," Thomas warned. "Atlantic Federation law enforcement."

"Use your Alliance assault rifles, do not use any Magi weapons," Megan ordered immediately. Each of the Ghosts reached inward, to a hold point on the inside of their shields that they normally reserved for collected weapons (in this case, three Earth Alliance assault rifles and an Earth Alliance light machine gun). Still operating under cloak, the approaching patrol car and pair of Atlantic Federation LEOs had no idea they were literally driving into the waiting sights of four Assault Ghosts.

The first indication anything was wrong the two patrol officers received was the first set of holes in their windshield. It was a fleeting realization, all things considered. The Earth Alliance liked the fire rate of their rifles in the 900-RPM area, which resulted in empty magazines in two seconds flat — counting the light machine gun, the radio microphone held by the passenger hit the floorboard of the car roughly a quarter-second after the 130th round had passed through what was prior the head of the driver. Both were clinically dead long before the car came to a rolling stop at the western bridge piling.

"The train wreck will crush and incinerate any evidence of that one," Thomas noted.

"Let's enjoy our fireworks and start the long hike home," Megan said as the oncoming transport train sounded a triple horn blast for a nearby road intersection.

The four Ghosts moved south of the bridge along the dry creek-bed the bridge was built over. Distance was their ally; a train wreck at speed on a collapsing bridge would throw debris for hundreds of meters, mostly due to the sheer inertia of a train. After 500 meters of clearance, the Ghosts climbed out of the creek-bed and turned to watch their hard work pay off.

It would only be at the absolute last that the Engineer would realize the bridge was ready to collapse, but with a massive freight train of such a load as this one, by the time you saw the impending disaster, the engineer would be literally an **hour** too late to stop the inevitable. The first locomotive of ten ran across the bridge cap, arrived at the now-sunken rail bed, and almost immediately collapsed the rest of the bridge bed under its several hundred tons of mass. The following nine locomotives and several hundred cargo cars continued to drive it forward even as it fell, and true to Hawk's estimate the front loco drove nose-first through the center pilings and immediately sheared it off. The collapse of the central support brought the remainder of the bridge down on top of the falling locomotives, even while the first of the Mobile Suit transport cars began driving off the rails and into the short ravine. Sheer inertia would pile the train cars up until they were above the rail bed altitude — such was the driving mass of a massive cargo train, and that would only take a minute of observation to see.

"What kind of score do we rack up for scrapping nearly a Regiment of armor and supplies?" Thomas asked idly as the trailing cars began impacting the now-filled gorge and started derailing farther down the track.

"I am not sure what the point value would be, but we can expect to be the most hunted beings in North America since Bonnie and Clyde," Amina judged.

"Won't matter," Hawk corrected her. "Shadows are unseen in the light of pure racism. They who are flash-blinded by hatred will never find."

"Time to disappear, guys. Hook up to my reactor pack and prepare to march. We have a long road ahead," Megan ordered.

-x-x-x-

(31 March CE 73, 1030 Hours)  
(Scandinavian Submarine Longboat, In harbor at main Scandinavian submarine base, Visby, Gotland Island)

"Admiral on Deck!" the Chief of the Watch shouted as the main fleet admiral of Scandinavia landed in tyhe sub's control room.

"As you were," he said to the ship's crew after he returned the salute to the Captain. "Maxwell, damn good to see you again."

"Wish it was under better circumstances," Captain Luties said pensively. "Come, I have an entourage waiting for us at the map table."

"Lead the way," the Director of Naval Operations answered.

Getting across the command center of the _Longboat_, or any of her sister ships, was effectively impossible to do without displacing or disturbing any of the other officers. The subs in question were small, nimble fast-attack boats, not the larger missile subs designed for long, slow cruises; as such, the SSK (diesel-powered submarine) _Longboat_-class subs was effectively horrid on crew amenities but long on speed. The hell of the matter was, the natural prey of the fast-attack boat (the missile or 'boomer' sub) was thought extinct until the past couple of months.

"Admiral, this is my XO, Commander Hoojrhein," Captain Luties indicated a younger and scruffy-looking man.

"Sir," the Commander acknowledged.

"This is my lead sonar technician, and the guy who found both the initial _Typhoon_ and the more recent _Ohio_-class ship. Goes by 'Kenny' to most other dolphins," the Captain was referring to submariners with the latter aspersion.

"Damn good ears, 'Kenny', wish I had you on my boat a decade ago," the Admiral noted. "Okay, time to get down to business. First, if I ordered the _Longboat_ into battle, are you men ready for it right now?"

"Hell yes, sir!" all three answered at the same time.

"Wow, little bit of surround sound there," the Admiral quipped. "Good to hear you think you're ready, because you and the other _Longboat_-class ships are going to get a chance to prove it. Officially, we're not taking sides in this war unless we are forced to. Unofficially, we are going to give clear aid and abetment to our friends in space by way of giving the Earth Alliance a naval enema they will feel for decades to come."

The Admiral sighed, then flipped naval charts on the table to NorthLant. "Now, first off, our Space Navy is right now in the 'rowboat' classification compared to the Earth Alliance or ZAFT, and 'life raft' listing compared to Mendel. We don't have any options in space for this go-around. Next time, however, we will make noise in the stars, count on it. This time, however, the Earth Alliance will tremble at the sound of our silence (2). We can not hold the seas; the Scandinavian military in its total count is not big enough to pull an 'America' with their sheer dominance of the seas. We can, however, deny the seas to the Earth Alliance and thus prevent them from doing easy troop movements or naval fire support on whatever the space invaders have planned."

"So, you want the subs to generate ready-made coral reef housing out of the Earth Alliance navy? Sounds fun, where do I sign up?" Captain Luties asked.

"You just did, cowboy, because I have the hardest of missions for you and your ship. Given that Kenny here is so expert on finding these bastardized firecracker barges, your task is to track down and sink every mother's sons of them once the balloon goes up. You follow?"

"Oh yeah, I follow," Captain Luties answered with a smile.

"We'll send them to the bottom with bells on," the XO noted. "Do you have any hard intel on where we can find the rest? If they have two, they have more."

"They have almost a dozen, total," the Admiral admitted. "They run in three-ship deterrence patrols, one set out of Charleston in North America, another set out of Faslane. They had to transfer all the working Boomers to one station each so they could take over the remaining naval graving docks for _Archangel_-class ship production."

"And not one of those ships will be ready in the next couple of months," the XO noted of their intelligence on the matter. "They have a navy on paper, but if they start shit in the next month, all they have is a paper navy and Mendel will go through it like a chainsaw."

"You miss the point, Commander. _We_ will go through their paper navy. Mendel and ZAFT will deal with their land and air forces. We may not be recognized for our achievements and actions, but at least we won't be butt-fucked by the Earth Alliance again."

"It will be us doing the 'pegging' this time around, Sir." 'Kenny' noted with a savage grin to effect. "You get me into their deterrence patches, I'll call them out and give the ships clean shots. A dozen ships, a dozen coral reefs."

"You'll get your chance," the Admiral admitted to the much younger sonarman. "Captain, get your supplies in and sail by this time tomorrow. Listen for the sound of the balloon going up, and then begin your hunt. Even if it is a false start when you begin hunting, your arse will be covered."

_That_ was a significant announcement. The Director of Naval Operations had just ordered the _Longbow_ to commence hostile actions at such a time as when the Captain and senior staff deemed it was time for the major war to the same breath, he had also said that any repercussions of that action would not be on him or his crew, it would go higher; in theory, it was a good set of ass-coverage papers, but the Nazis had thought the same thing prior to the Nuremburg Trials. "Well, one way or another, we'll go down in the history books. Just hope you're here to pay for the beers when we're done," Maxwell admitted.

"I intend to be. Maybe with a Mendel Star Colonel or higher along to help foot the bill." The Admiral came to attention and saluted. "Good luck, men. See you on the other side, one way or the other."

-x-x-x-

(5 April CE 73, 0415 Hours UTC)  
(Mendel SDIZ)

"I always wondered what the skies of Hell would look like. Now I know," Sensor Operator Tiara Graley noted with clear dejection.

"It is a day like today that gets me thinking," Flay said. "I always wonder, where did I go wrong in those days past," she said without realizing she was meandering in thought processes. "What could I have done better, or done right?"

The bridge was silent, considering the evolving battlefield while the pilots jockeyed for position. "Then what?" the Commander asked when nobody else did.

"Then the Earth Alliance does some dumb shit like this, and I always remind myself that I am on this side of the guns that are about to dominate heavens and earth, so help us God." She rapped her knuckles on the top of her console twice, even though 'knocking on wood' normally required wood to do properly and her console was aluminum.

"Amen, Reverend," Sensor Operator Melody noted with a smile.

"So, any movement in our area yet?" Captain Jamestown asked after the enemy ships began shifting directions and launching missiles toward the formation for another round.

"Nothing major, a couple _Nelson_-class and their Mobile Suit compliment," Sensor Operator Nikko answered heartily.

"Alright, Guns, get to it," the Captain ordered.

"Aye, sir," Ensign Smith answered immediately. "Spinning up Gottfrieds, Valiants, CIWS is on Special Auto and missile tubes one through six plus nineteen through twenty-four are loaded with Sledgehammers. I hope these punks are feeling lucky."

"The Agent Smith program is in full effect," Sensor Operator Graley said in a joking tone to Flay.

"He's free of the system," Flay countered, having seen the _Matrix_ series of movies with the other Sensor Operators in recent weeks.

"So long as he's forking himself on their doods, I'm not going to complain," Commander Grey commented dismissively. She was referring to a common shell command 'fork' to create copies of something, much as had Agent Smith in said movies.

"Ready to fire, boss," Ensign Smith said, either ignoring or not having heard the conversation of the operators below and to his right.

"They beat us to it," Sensor Operator Nikko declared. "Conn, Sensors, incoming missiles and torpedoes — possible nuclear missiles — from enemy detachment. I see four _Drake_-class ships also forming up on the _Nelsons_, looks like we have a scrap on our hands."

"Not surprising," Captain Jamestown admitted. "Helm, turn port thirty degrees, CIWS intercept priority is torpedoes, fire on the lead _Nelson_ with everything worth talking about, Agent Smith," the Captain played off the joke from the sensor operators. "Also, load up launchers seven through eighteen with counter-streak missiles. We paid for them, we might as well use them."

Flay watched silently as the melee unfolded around her, given mostly that Gerald had effective control of the _Dominion_'s mobile forces. That left her tending the radar for the starboard side, not the most impressive of tasks but critical for the continued survival of the ship (and by extension her survival).

The major point of this campaign had to be the ships, she figured. The Strike Daggers with the missile tubes were painfully obvious; Flay had seen working prototypes of those missile launchers when she was in Blue Cosmos, and she knew now what they were intended for. Not that she expected such an attack to amount to much, especially with Naval Counter-Streak Missiles standing by to punch through the torpedoes.

Allster shuddered involuntarily when the missiles launched from the rear silos, followed closely by the forward-facing silos with a different target set. Something about the launch of live missiles in the _Archangel_-class ships always unnerved her; the ZAFT ships she had been briefly on had no such problems, and she found out the new Mendel and ZAFT ships suffered the same acoustic problem. It was a haunting sound, filled with rocket blast and tons of ordinance, but a sound of freedom to Flay. A sound of a life she figured she could still improve.

Much as with their designed purpose, the Counter-Streak missiles homed in on the tracking systems of the torpedoes — most were genuine torpedoes, though of the twelve loosed missiles two found nuclear cruise missiles masquerading as legit torpedoes. "Ha! We got ten, including two nukes!" Flay reported immediately when her screens reported immediate detection of high-radiation sources — specifically, the shattered fissile core of a nuclear weapon.

"Reload counter-streak missiles in seven to nineteen until I say otherwise," Soritz Jamestown ordered of the weapons officer.

"Autoload Counter-streaks on the ass-end, aye sir," the FCS officer answered immediately.

"Helm, Conn, my course is fifteen to the left true."

"Helm, hold course, prepare to maneuver on the enemy formation. They will try to spread out to attack us in a line; make sure they do not form any kind of defensive plan, for we will be hitting them in moments."

"Conn, Weps, firing solution on the lead _Nelson_. Standing by."

"Fire at will, and dump the Sledgehammers into the lead _Drake_," the Captain ordered.

"On it," Smith said immediately and almost automatically.

"Conn, Sensors, we still have four torpedoes in the sky," Flay had to force herself to put the incongruent terms 'torpedo' and 'sky' into the same sentence. It went against everything she knew about torpedoes, which were nominally underwater weapons.

"CIWS has them, now, now, now," Smith answered. True to his word, the sensor panel lit up as the nanometer wave radar systems tracked the outgoing CIWS rounds to the torpedoes, where few of those slugs passed by the torpedoes until her sensor panel began clouding up when the weapons broke apart or detonated.

"Four scratches," Flay reported. "Sky is clear for now."

"Flay, direct the Sleepers forward to engage the _Drake_-class ships on the right flank. Weps, I want the port-most _Nelson_ sunk or I want to know why," the Captain ordered.

"Chaos, Gaia, Abyss, this is Operator, stand-to for frag order," Flay warned them.

"Oh, frag orders! I like fragging things! Where do you want me?" Auel asked after a bare moment of silence.

"Starboard side of the enemy assault line, the lead _Drake_. Kick its ass and take its name," Specialist Allster ordered. She wasn't going to spoil the fun by correcting his misuse of 'frag' in this case, mainly because she thought it was funny. She also knew deep down, if the ship survived and Mendel lived on, these radio conversations would become historical archives. Some time in the future, a schoolkid or academic researcher would listen to the radio chatter of the Battle of Mendel — and she didn't want those future listeners to think the _Dominion_ was staffed by pussies.

"Kick ass and take name, good copy on orders," Stella replied somewhat formally.

"Auel, go wide right, Stella close left, I'll take the head-on approach. Keep moving! The ship may be harmless to us, but the Windams have enough firepower to knock out these Gundams!"

"Way ahead of you, Sting," Stella acknowledged.

Flay changed her viewpoint system over to Stella's system monitors, so she could see what the Gaia was doing. A few seconds after Flay switched over view to the unit view, she was treated to a drive-by on a Windam as Stella flew past it completely while firing on it with multiple beam attacks. Whether or not it was destroyed, Flay could not confirm on her sensor panel; for sure, the craft was headed the wrong way to turn and intercept the Gaia, so it was out of the frag-op fight either way.

Stella made her pass at another Windam, this one a catastrophic kill (likely a fuel tank hit), then came the ship Flay had ordered sunk. Flay was reminded of how small and seemingly insignificant a Mobile Suit was compared to a Warship, at least until Sting dumped all the Firefly missiles from his unit into the front of the ship and inadvertently pegged one of the Torpedoes on the way out of the launch tube. The Earth Alliance dunderheads were probably hot-loading the things, which caused the missile-on-missile collision to trigger the torpedoes' detonator and cook it off effectively in contact with the hull. It was not directed (the torpedoes were designed with shaped charge warheads for a reason), but it certainly didn't help the rest of the ship.

The coup de grace was landed by Auel, apparently inadvertently. Two of his six shoulder-binder beam cannons missed completely, a third hit, though the Callidus multi-phase beam cannon round struck practically on top of the anti-air machine cannon. With little armor on the turret, the beam punched through the gun, the feed mechanism, and down into the ammo bunker that fed both machine cannons. Given the ship was dogged down tight for combat, only the front third of the Drake-class ship _Admiral Kunetzov_ was lost to the munitions explosion. The remainder of the ship, however, was out of action.

"Damn good shooting to the kids, Flay," Captain Jamestown declared. "That's one ship down and a whole damn pisspot full of 'em to go. Weps?"

"Make that two down, sir," Mister Smith declared coldly. Flay watched on the sensors as the outside _Nelson_ was chopped down to size by the Gottfried cannons facing it down.

"Chaos, Gaia, Abyss, this is Operator. Return to ship if you need resupply, otherwise begin interdiction of next _Drake_-class ship in the enemy line. How copy?" Given the units were close to other enemy warships, she wanted to verify they understood her.

"Good copy," Auel acknowledged. "No resupply needed at this time. Moving out now."

Flay sighed, subconsciously aware this would be a long and hard battle. She was not incorrect, but not for the reasons she thought.

-x-x-x-

(5 April CE 73, 0645 Lima (UTC-4))  
(USSA Main Garrison, Manaus, Brazil)

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, it is now game on," Colonel Edward Harrelson said after he turned off the replay of Star Admiral Centara's declaration.

"Tall order, making sure Blue Cosmos resides in Hell only," Jane Huston picked at the one part of his declaration that would give Mendel fits.

"Hey, I'm betting on Mendel," the President noted with significant confidence. "I don't like their policies, but those pukes know how to throw some serious lead."

"At this point, it's a hard bet to say 'no' to," Commander Rico admitted. "We ripped the designs of the Quin Mantha off them, and they like it. That tells me these guys aren't right in the head, which makes them perfect for fighting the crazies in Blue Cosmos."

"And that makes things perfect for us," Ed completed the circle of thought. "The Earth Alliance just kicked themselves out of space by way of Mendel's boot, so the action will shift down here to Earth. Don't know how Mendel is going to play that game, but now would be a very good time to take advantage of it."

"Concur," the Defense Minister agreed. "We have had draft plans on the table for months now, everything from overland assault into Panama to an island-hopping campaign up to the Florida Keys. Only question is, where do we start?"

"Well, let's lay out each plan and decide what to enact," the President suggested.

"All right, on the main monitor, please," the Defense Minister waved a finger at it. "Plan one is the most aggressive, entailing an overland march up into the old Central America territory and potentially beyond it. We have some resistance to expect for the overland march, but with Mendel going on a tear we can expect some serious 'arrows from the sky' to assist. This is the general operations concept."

"Two months hard march from our Colombian border up to the Rio Grande, and another month from there to St. Louis, Missouri," Jane Houston read off the listed timetable from the map. "Not too aggressive, not too stodgy, and all of it is during the summer months so we don't get bogged down in the middle of an invasion timetable during winter."

"Yeah, no repeats of Stalingrad for us," Rico said with a smile.

"We'll table that one for now. The manpower needed to make it work might be a bit too much. Next plan?" The President requested.

"Plan Bravo is a little more conservative on the land route, but throws in some major island work for us. Again, the primary focus would be the Panama to Belize run, but our real soak-up is expected to be all the little islands south of Cuba. This still leaves the bulk of the Gulf in Earth Alliance hands, but it puts us in a position where we can jump off for a second round at them in a couple years —

"We don't have to eat the whole elephant in one sitting? Wise move, since we're still gunning against a foe far larger than us," the President considered. "Okay, let's leave aside the continental side for now. What do you have that is all island?"

The Defense Minister cleared his throat. "Actually, plan Charlie is all island ops, and the least aggressive of the five scenarios. We hit all the island nations in the Gulf short of Cuba. This doesn't really give us much in the way of resources or population emancipation, but it does count for a stinging blow to the dominant enemy force in the area — the Earth Alliance." The map showed four waves of attacks, conducted by a combination military and civilian shipping. It would be hellish, especially if the Earth Alliance Naval base in Guantanamo was alerted to the oncoming threat, but options were thin.

"Delta plan?" Edward asked after a moment of silence.

"Same thing as Charlie, add Cuba into our take. The hard part for us for doing Cuba is going to be the inability to move in the Southern Cross units, at least initially. The same problem applies to them; if we can't move heavy armor easily, neither can they."

"Taking Cuba gives us excellent options for follow-up raids or strikes and near-dominance of the Gulf. I would recommend we do that much regardless of the plan we choose."

"Concur," Jane Huston agreed with her boyfriend's assessment. "If we intend to make the Earth Alliance hurt, we might want to do it right."

"And that is where Plan Echo comes into play. Island only, until you hit phase six," and the Defense Minister pointed to the highly aggressive plan map. "Once we have Cuba, the next stop is the Florida Keys and then into the swampy hellhole of dead Spaniards and living crocodiles. Playing directly on their sacred grounds may not be particularly wise, though; nobody has successfully invaded the United States territories since before the CE calendar — specifically, AD 1814 with a misplaced British invasion into the old Louisiana territories, and that invasion was an abject failure."

"Not a history I want to repeat. Delta plan sounds good," the President noted.

"You have one more here," Rico waved a folder at them. "What does the initials 'Charlie Sierra' mean, though?"

"An in-joke by one of my staffers," the Defense Minister said hurriedly. "It is supposed to mean Curb Stomp, ergo such a bloody beating that the Earth Alliance can't recover and we get to divvy up the spoils. It's a fantasy battle-plan, though, as it presupposes ZAFT and Mendel can field over two Army Groups on their own — or, in Mendel's parlance, three Legions of forces. They would have to be reinforced to make that happen, though, and Star Admiral Centara swears he cannot get comms out."

"Okay, you have my attention. Assuming we get the chance to enact Curb Stomp, what do we take?" the President asked.

"South Africa, Central America up to the Rio Grande, Gulf of Mexico, Florida, and maybe some other areas of the old US Gulf States. We'll negotiate with ZAFT and Mendel on what else we can take."

Ed looked around the table at the faces looking at the map of the CS Battleplan. "Wood," he said offhand.

"What, sir?" Rico asked.

"Lots of wood around this table, for a battleplan that we'll probably never get to execute," Ed clarified his mystery statement.

"A man can dream, can't he?" the President asked. "I want to get as much of the EA out from under the EA, if that makes sense."

"Well, it is a good dream," Ed Harrelson said with another glance at the map. He had no way of knowing it would be his reality soon enough.

-x-x-x-

(5 April CE 73, 1330 Lima (UTC-6))  
(Ghost Headquarters, Hannibal, Missouri, Atlantic Federation old United States territory)

"Well holy shit, the Atlantic Federation logistics pukes will be feeling that one for a few weeks to come," Ghost Operator Xion said with a smile. "Damn good op, Megan. Too bad Ben Jones wasn't around to see the take, he'd love it."

Ghost Officer Thomas laughed at Xion's aspersion. "Fucking crazy old fart, but I agree. He is maniacal enough to like watching us pile several thousand tons of train like cordwood."

"He returns home, train the young crazy farts," Hawk Longfeather noted. "Soon, we will train young crazy farts. It is the tao (3) of the Magi Touman."

"We're headed for an instructor role, eventually, but first we need to earn our credentials by disemboweling the Earth Alliance from the inside out," Star Commander Megan Garibaldi put voice to the coming reality.

"You will have your chance, soon enough," the voice of JADE, the _Mjolnr_ Ship's AI said over the facility intercom. It was not impossible for her to break into the system controls and thereafter the speaker system, but it was also considered bad form (the Missouri Ghost Base was supposed to be a completely clandestine operation).

"Okay, Jade, you have our attention, what's the word?" Amina asked, knowing something had to be monster for the AI to directly tap the Ghost Base.

"Listen well; for you will hear the sound of the brown material splattering even at your great distance. As of 0500 UTC, the Earth Alliance is now under Trial of Annihilation, so sayeth the Star Admiral."

"Which colony?" Xion asked directly.

"I will cover — "

"Which colony?" Xion asked far more forcefully than she ever spoke to anyone.

The AI hesitated a moment. "Mendel II. We were able to clear about 300,000 between the lifeboats and some Dropships."

"My love?" Xion asked after a moment of silence.

Again, the AI hesitated for a moment, this time probably to search records. "No. His body was recovered. Exposure to vacuum."

It was Xion who was silent before she said anything. "Where do we begin?"

"We have a priority operation at hand. A passenger shuttle was hijacked with some VIPs, which Blue Cosmos intends to use as symbols of their ongoing war effort. You begin by turning their capture into a symbol of our infinite and lethal grasp of warfare beyond the wildest dreams of Blue Cosmos."

"Understood," Megan answered before Xion could get pissy about a rescue op in preference to a revenge operation. "Further information at this time?"

"Landing zone appears to be North America, probably Colorado at this time. We will firm that intel up with the _Forrestal_ before I issue orders to move."

"We will rescue the captured persons, without fail," Xion said. "I know I have no authority over an AI entity, but I want you to plan operations for us to slowly and brutally annihilate the Earth Alliance leadership and anyone involved in the nuclear attack."

"You will receive those orders, I guarantee it," JADE promised them.

"Now, how did the Earth Alliance break our defenses and make a run on the colony?" Thomas asked the AI.

"Single heavy blitz attack, enough force to overwhelm our defenses." the main screen cleared of the playing video footage of the train wreck and switched over to a map of the SDIZ for L4 / Mendel. "They hit us in three successive waves, each time adjusting tactics to counter our forces. Their primary nuclear platform consisted of old Strike Dagger units fitted with paired nuclear cruise missile launchers. Their first wave resulted in only a single hit against the _Mjolnr_, nothing serious. Their second wave caught the _Byzantine_ reloading, a single nuclear missile to the nose ended that ship's reign over the battlefield."

"_Byzantine_ was the doorguard to the right flank of Mendel II, clever trick," Amina gauged. "Get the ship on the far end, away from as many other ships as possible, and you have the best chance of making a shot through."

"That is exactly what they tried doing, and that is where they succeeded," JADE acknowledged the Ghost's analysis.

"And thus, millions die for their hatred," Xion completed the thought. "What else major happened?"

"The _Mjolnr_ lost its starboard-side Naval Rail Gun. 2 Megaton blast to the starboard, not far off the main feed and charge bank. That gun will never operate again."

"What about replacing it?" Thomas asked. "Not with an equivalent weapon, but if we scrapped the whole gun and replaced it with, say, a pair of Lohengrin guns?"

It was JADE's turn for silence this time. After twenty seconds: "Your proposal has merit, Ghost Officer. I will forward it to the chief structures engineer for review."

"We will stand ready for the shuttle to land," Scar Commander Garibaldi declared. "Will we have reinforcements?"

"Reinforcements are already in place on the shuttle. Ghost Instructor Benjamin Jones is in the cargo hold. He will certainly stand ready to act on their intentions when the shuttle lands."

"Could not ask for better backup," Hawk Longfeather said approvingly. "Who are the hostages?"

"Lacus Clyne and Kira Yamato."

Ghost Headquarters Hannibal was silent for a minute before anyone spoke. "Depraved bastards, to use the young as symbols in a game for which we adults should pay the price," Ghost Officer Terra said calmly, the first thing she had said since before the review of the train wreck video began.

"Everyone will reap the costs of this war, Terra," Megan said solemnly. "Many parents will be permanently deprived of their children, sons and daughters will be orphaned by chance in the coming weeks. This does not even count the millions deceased in Mendel II already."

"Only the dead have seen the end of war, and humanity is not dead yet, so…" Thomas let his quip trail off.

"So we are condemned to continually clean up the depredations of others," Xion completed the thought. "May Existence have mercy on their souls, for I have no intention of showing mercy to their mortal bodies."

-x-x-x-

(5 April CE 73, 0800 UTC)  
(ZAFT Colony Aprilius Two, Northern Continent, GOSS-I Supermarket)

"This stuff, is, like, the best radish sauce I've ever had. I don't have a clue what Mendel does different, but these FoxCo guys do the best sauces," a young lady said. Her toddler was waving at the jar while the mother was busy trying to stash it somewhere logical in her cart.

"Different regulations," the grandmother of said toddler admitted. "And a different attitude. They prefer canning to artificial preservatives, and they have different levels of stuff." Said Grandmother picked up a jar of chili sauce from the same manufacturer. "FoxCo does things full-bore, full flavor, and in this case hot as hell. Greenwood is their competitor," and said 40-year-old granny waved to the next row of jars. "They do it mellow, but still full flavor. This stuff?" she picked up a jar of Junius Agriculture Chili Sauce. "Haven't used this in months, and not going to start again," Said jar returned to the shelf.

"Well, it's a good thing Mendel's still hanging in there, if for no other reason than to give us alternatives to the way everyone else does," the young mother admitted.

"Well, the longer Mendel hangs around, the better the chance your husband stays alive long enough to return home."

"Mother! Don't say things like that, it's depressing," the daughter / young mother chided. "Besides, the war has cooled down even if the Earth Alliance is talking tough again. We're safe, for now."

"I know, but, remember that Armory One is in L4, and the Earth Alliance won't hesitate to do that station just as fast as they would do Mendel."

"Thank you, mother. See if I give you any input in the name for number two," the daughter said sarcastically even as the two continued their shopping run.

"Oh really...I think…" she let her sentence trail off as they came to the end of the aisle, which abutted a small electronics boutique in the store. "Erm, clerk, can you turn the volume up on these television sets?"

"Yeah, sure," the clerk stopped staring at the images himself and reached out to the largest of the monitors. It only took a few seconds for the volume to get to full.

"...We will warn you, this footage is graphic and uncut, as is required of Mendel military policy on such matters. Viewer discretion is recommended if you cannot stomach a horrible scene. We will give you five seconds to change the channel before we roll the footage."

The five seconds elapsed, then the view switched over to some manner of cockpit footage. "This is Spade Four, possible nuclear missiles in vicinity of _Hyperion_ control zone! Repeat, possible nuclear missiles vicinity _Hyperion_!"

"This is _Hyperion_, Tilgeis speaking. We see the missiles and are ready. Spade Four, return to combat op—" Static and a blast on the side of the _Mjolnr_, visible to the extreme left of the viewing area from Spade Four, caused the radio signal to static out briefly.

"_Mjolnr_, Spade Four, do you require recovery?" the pilot of the unit asked before he used a pair of beam cannons to shred apart a stray Earth Alliance Mobile Suit. Much as the announcer stated, it was completely uncut, even covering some background screaming on the radio channel.

"Negative, Spade Four, priority intercept nuclear arms, get a move on!" someone else on the radio band ordered.

"Negative, _Mjolnr_ flight, I am outside intercept envelope due to system damage. _Hyperion_ has them." To point, a missile was detonated away from the ship, followed by a standard space torpedo that slammed into the nose of the ship, but was not enough to cause major damage. "Oh shit, one left! One passing _Hyperion_, headed to the colony!"

The ship fired several bursts of different weapons at the missile, but none of the guns were accurate enough to score a kill on it. At the last moment, a different machine painted in red fired a large beam cannon at it once, twice, and scored a hit on it the third time but did not destroy it. "Oh Gods, Mendel II is about to take a hit!" Spade Four shouted.

"Oh, God, please no," the young mother said mostly to herself.

"Bounce, baby, bounce," a middle-aged man said to the television. It was a short-lived hope — after a flight time of several more seconds, the missile seemingly disappeared into the wall of the colony, with a brief pause of a couple more seconds before the entry hole was highlighted by a bright white flash. "Shit no! A nuke!"

"Oh, God, oh, God," the young mother chanted in fear. Her husband was known to frequent Mendel II when out on TDY to Armory One. "Please tell me he was in Armory One, not Mendel II," she said.

"Holy shit," the clerk said as the colony began disintegrating from the massive blast pressure inside the sealed tin can form of the colony. "Jesus, you can even see bodies floating around from — "

"Enough, son," the grandmother said to the clerk. "We can all see it."

"This is fucking bullshit," the middle-age man groused. "Another war, another colony nuked. How many more before we just eradicate the Earth Alliance?"

"Oh, no, kid, they won't be no more of this," an older gentleman said. "Mendel — the Magi — they won't put up with this shit. The Earth Alliance just signed their own death warrants."

"I hope so, that's a freaking lot of bodies," the clerk said.

"It's just the same as Junius Seven," the grandmother commented. "I lost my husband to that nuclear weapon. Now, Mendel gets to exact their vengeance for the same crime."

"Oh no, not vengeance," the older gent commented. "This has only one payback in Magi society: annihilation."

"What good will that do? Bring on more war?" the mother asked angrily.

The middle-aged man snorted loudly. "No, just one war. It's a little hard to throw a second war when the belligerents are all dead and buried, and Mendel will do just exactly that."

The young mother choked up, but realized in the back of her mind that she couldn't protest such an outcome. The nuclear strike years ago had claimed her father; the nuclear strike today may have claimed her husband. What was to say that the next attack would not claim her son? Or her daughter-to-be in several months? Wish as she might to protest such an action, she could not force herself to deride the one nation capable of ending the cycle of nuclear omnicide.

It tore at her, briefly, to have two beliefs in such conflict, but it didn't last long. Like many mothers, she would have sold her soul to Satan for the safety of her child. Selling her soul to the Multimage Empire and their absolutionist beliefs in the Clan Honor system, not so heavy a price to pay as the former option.

Before she left the supermarket, she was already sold on the idea of Mendel erasing the Earth Alliance from the face of the planet.

-x-x-x-

(6 April CE 73, 1200 Hours)  
(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, Whizzy's Pool Hall and Restaurant)

The main hostess looked up from her 'ouija board' (guest organizer) to the new entrants at the door. "Oh, wow, military! I thought —"

"Most, yes," Stella politely cut her off. "We're an independent formation, and our CO gave us six hours on shore before we head out."

"Which formation?" the bar owner asked as he approached the hostess.

"_Dominion_," Flay answered. "Two pilots, one Sensor Operator."

"Your dinner and first round are on me," he said.

"I'll cover your second round, kids," the hostess immediately followed up. "We saw," she pointed to a screen over the bar, which was playing part of the 'enhanced take' record footage from the _Dominion_'s battles.

"You guys sunk more than your own tonnage in enemy shipping and mobile suits. I'm damn glad you're on our side," the bar owner said as he led the three to a corner booth surrounded by some tropical plants. "Your call where to start, and I'll pick up the tab."

"You don't have to," Flay indirectly thanked him.

"You're right, missie, I don't have to, but I will. I'm not afraid to thank the people that are outside this colony saving my ass from a bad case of radiation poisoning. Don't worry about today, I've got it covered. One of my waitresses will be along shortly to take your orders. May I take a drink request?"

"Whiskey sour," Stella immediately responded.

"Draft lager, whatever you normally recommend," Auel answered.

"Scotch on the rocks, please," Flay concluded the order.

"I'm on it," Without further word, the proprietor was on his way.

"I hope Gerald doesn't get pissed about this," Flay warned.

"That old drunkard? Not likely," Auel admitted. "He's only about two steps shy of being a full-blown alcoholic."

"One step, Auel, one step," Stella corrected him. "And he's got a lot of baggage up here, so I don't expect it otherwise." Stella was indicating her forehead, meaning in his mind.

"I keep coming back to the thought that there is something else going on about him," Flay admitted. "I mean, he keeps saying he isn't a commando, but — "

"But it's bullshit," Auel cut her off. "The dude is old and hard. Older than dirt, likely, and definitely hard enough to depopulate the Atlantic Federation if the Star Admiral lets him loose. He's done some serious shit in his lifetime, the kind of stuff that would take the curl out of the pussy hair of the average Code Pink worker. I don't know what he's done, but I don't think I want to find out, either."

"How very self-preservationist of you," Flay said in the flat tone of disapproval that any lady could conjure at whim. Hers was not so much dissatisfaction with his message, but the phrasing.

"Well, I'm not afraid to state my limits, and that is one of them. His past is blank for a reason, but I think it goes back. Way back. Maybe back before the Star Empire Wars," Auel said quietly before the proprietor arrived with their drinks.

"Lager for the good sir, a whiskey sour for the pilot lady, and a scotch on the rocks for the sensor operator. Enjoy, and a waitress will be along shortly."

"Okay, assuming you are right, what does it matter?" Stella asked after the owner left.

"He would have to be a Transcendent or better," Auel took it right to the logical conclusion. "Think about it. The Old Emperor, the Transitional Queen, and the Empress, all of the same family, but all eternal. The only thing that allows that is Transcendance, ergo the power of the Gods, or going above it as an Executor does. That kind of hardness is reserved for a lucky few that don't go batshit insane from the power. And that kind of hardness is not far off from Gerald, excepting the Transitional Queen."

"Yeah, Queen Serena was a bit of a pussy," Flay admitted. "Right lady for the job, but definitely not Magi standard material."

"The only assbeating she ever delivered was in bed to Prince Darien, and he liked it," Stella said. Auel had to restrain himself from blowing beer out of his nose, the comment was so stunning coming from Stella.

"Anyway, I think Gerald has been in and out of the shadows throughout the old war," Auel guessed. "Like I said, I ain't got no proof, but he has to be a lot older than he looks and acts."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Not that it matters, but it is worth knowing." Flay held her part of the conversation when the waitress arrived.

"Are you ready to order, sir, ma'ams?" the waitress asked.

"Aye," Auel acknowledged. "First, another of this lager, not sure which one the owner pulled, but it's good. Second, do a prime chopped steak with country gravy. Make it veggies and pierogies for sides."

"One lager, proprietor's choice, chopped steak with gravy, add veggies and pierogies. Milady pilot?" the hostess looked to Stella.

"Chicken Caesar Salad, add a side of four beer-battered chicken strips, please."

"Chicken Caesar Salad, add four beer-battered strips. No problem. Now for the Sensor Operator?"

Flay drained her Scotch. "Another round, scotch on the rocks, please. My meal, I'll do shrimp fajitas with all the trimmings and a sweet manju bun for desert."

"Scotch on the rocks, shrimp fajitas with dessert of sweet manju bun. Got it." the Waitress submitted the order ticket on her note-puter, which immediately sent the order to the grill staff with a high-priority flag courtesy of the owner. "I'll be back in moments with your drinks."

"As much as I hate to be crying in a perfectly good lager, I just realized, it could have been us in Mendel II when the flag went up. We were supposed to get shore leave next week."

"That's a bitch of a thought," Flay agreed with Auel.

"It's true, though," Stella sipped at her whiskey sour briefly. "We did come six days away from getting nuked ourselves. Funny how chance changes these things."

"That close to nuclear death, on the whim of a madman," Flay said morosely, staring at her drained rocks glass.

"Yeah, that close to getting a nuclear enema," Auel continued. "On the other hand, we got a second chance, somehow. I'm all for using it to drive my boot up Atlantic Federation asses."

"Take a number, buddy, there may be a line," Stella said archly.

For Flay, the transition of thought from 'almost nuked off the face of Existence' to 'Need to do something about this problem' was not a hard or long decision process. In all reality, it was the expected outcome; having seen the madness on its way, Flay could no longer tolerate their depredations and assaults. At this point, her former employers had declared that they would kill anyone in their path to retain hegemony, and that now included one Flay Allster.

Putting voice to her desire was simpler. "I solemnly swear to fight Blue Cosmos to the end, to allow no survivor of their ranks, and to defend all uninvolved persons from their omnicide," Flay said candidly.

"Huh? What was that about?"

"You in or out?" Flay asked the pilot.

"In, of course. No way in hell I'm going back," Auel answered indignantly.

"So draw up your oath, or copy mine. There's only one way out of this, and that means live long enough to talk about it. That also means we flatten the main threats," Flay challenged him.

It was Stella who first followed suit. "I solemnly swear to fight Blue Cosmos to the end, to allow no survivor of their ranks, and to defend all uninvolved persons from their omnicide," she copied Flay word for word.

"Okay, I get it," Auel answered. "I, Auel Neider, do hereby swear bloody vengeance upon Blue Cosmos, and will do my utmost to make sure their megalomania is only practiced in Hell henceforth."

Flay nodded twice. "In five hours, we begin."

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

The manipulation is again in force, but this time it is for a bit more of an honorable purpose.

Inasfar as story material goes, this chapter is mostly side-story collision from the main and other threads in DFA. A snippet of USSA planning. A glimpse into naval strategy inside the Scandinavians. A bare look into ZAFT civilian thought processes. Even a look into a bullshit defensive measure being emplaced on the border of USSA / EA territory, and the sods that know it won't work but are being made to build it.

On the other hand, this also includes a major glimpse into Flay's moving thought processes and her redirected ruthlessness. She had sworn never to take anyone down Kira's path again, but that path has many individual roads and she has not completely forsworn manipulation in general. That Stella and Auel are already predilected to beating Earth Alliance ass did not make it a particularly challenging psych operation, but as with all things of this nature there is always a way out for the ensnared.

If there is any one thing that should be kept in mind going forward, it is the operation hauled out by the Ghosts against the rail infrastructure. Keep the shutdown of the rail line from Albany to Chicago firmly in mind; that loss will cause echoes in the actual invasion of the Atlantic Federation and specifically in the soon-to-be-revamped Inferno In Chicago. If you can't move your forces where they are needed, your options are cut down to nil or close to it. Such a loss will cause problems, trust me.

On my writing, at this time I am planning to move forward with all my stories on a prior-established timeline, and my operations tempo is back up to 1 chapter per 2 weeks or so. It is not easy, but with the effective end of summer I now have options for writing during the evening that I did not consistently have during the hot and long-day seasons. I have also solidified my personal strength-training routines in the morning, so now that my schedule is consistent I can keep an even pace...hopefully. (On an aside, I am aiming for a leg press of 1000 pounds by october of next year. I am already at 630 as of the original publishing of this chapter, so I don't have too far to go. Wish me luck!)

Not much else to say for this chapter.

**NEXT UP**: The _Dominion_ in action on Luna. The Ghosts in action on Terra. The Scandinavian navy in action below the waves. Many theaters, many casualties, but much to be gained.

* * *

**Review Replies**: Only two reviews on my last chapter. Much thanks for the input, gentlemen!

_Akalon_: I am holding off on doing the Mechwarrior Online thing until after I have built myself a new PC sometime early next year. I WILL step foot onto the battlefields of the Inner Sphere once more!

_Fire Miner_: The shortest answer would be the still-living person gets to hear the mind processes of the person so killed. That kind of happening tends to really warp a mind.

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**: Only one error picked up by _Akalon_, and it has been corrected. Thank you goes out to **Akalon**, **Necroblade**, **Sieben Nightwing**, and **Takeshi Yamato** for the continued Beta assistance!

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): In most cases, problems with misjumps CAN be explained, though the reasoning shall not be covered until a later side-story of the Jokers Wild.

(2): This quote is borrowed from Captain Marko Ramius, from the movie version of The Hunt For Red October (it did not show up in the book version). I am morally obligated to give props to Tom Clancy somewhere in my works, and may he rest in peace after enlightening many with his kickass fiction and nonfiction writing skills.

(3): **Tao** in this use is Chinese, means 'way' or 'method'.


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